


What Brings Us Together

by MircallaBlue



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke, Clexa, Cute Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Sex, Step-siblings, Step-sisters AU, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-11-23 10:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MircallaBlue/pseuds/MircallaBlue
Summary: Clarke and Lexa grew up in the same town, and yet they might as well have lived in completely different worlds. They know each other, they see each other every day at school, and they've never spoken. Clarke is famously known for the number of guys she likes to get through, and Lexa isn't known at all. Yet they have one thing in common, they've both lost a parent, and the ones they have left have just gotten engaged.





	1. When a storm meets the ocean

Lexa knows something is wrong long before the words are actually spoken. It feels like a shift, a dynamic change. It upsets something deep within her stomach, for reasons she doesn’t quite understand. It starts when her father knocks on her bedroom door one night. A night like any other, spent in comfortable silence at opposite ends of the house. Except they aren’t at opposite ends of the house, because he’s in her room, offering the sincerest smile he can muster.

 

“Marcus.” She says as he enters. It sounds like a question. Lexa is sat at her desk, hammering out an essay that isn’t due for a week. Lexas father cringes slightly at the sound of his name, though he does his best to smile through it. It’s been a long time since she’s called him dad.

 

“I’m not interrupting am I?” He steps sheepishly into the room, hands behind his back like he’s in a business meeting. Lexa shakes her head. She knows her father well enough to be able to read him, and he’s clearly there to talk about something serious. It’s something he’s positive about, she can see that much in his eyes, though they seem to be avoiding her. But still he seems apprehensive. He looks towards her essay, trying his best to stall. “What’s this about?”

 

“The French Revolution.” Lexa says dismissively. She regrets it immediately. Lexas father, the history buff, smiles genuinely for the first time.

 

“Which one?” He asks, chuckling as if it’s a joke.

 

“ _T_ _he_ one,” Lexas words are colder than she intended, but the two of them are used to it by now. Marcus doesn’t react. “Due tomorrow.” Lexa adds, and the unspoken words speak volumes. _So what do you want?_

 

“I was hoping we could have dinner together,” His smile is weak and trying, but Lexa can sense the effort. “I have some things I’d like to talk about.” He rolls gently on his heels, trying to keep the mood light. This is unusual, they haven’t eaten together in years.

 

He’s happy, Lexa realises. Really happy. He’d have to be, to be able to approach her like this, so out of character. It makes her smile too, despite herself.

 

“Depends on what we’re having.” She says, her tone now much lighter, somewhat playful. Marcus picks up on it. His hands move from behind his back for the first time in the conversation to scratch the rough beard he’d grown over the last year. He laughs.

 

“Whatever you want.” He strolls out of the room without asking what that is, knowing Lexa will follow.

 

Lexa doesn’t have the best relationship with her father, but they try. They’re too pragmatic to be sentimental, at least outwardly, but the love is there. Sometimes Lexa feels the problem is that they’re too alike to be close. Lexa has no doubts as to which one of her parents she resembles the most, even if she did never get to meet her mother.

 

When Lexa leaves her room a few minutes later, Marcus is standing in the kitchen, looking both older and younger than he actually is at the same time. His clothing and demeanour ages him, but Lexa can see something in his eyes that night that makes him seem youthful.

  

“This news had better be worth my time.” Lexa says as she enters the kitchen. “King Louis was about to lose his head.” Marcus chuckles, handing Lexa a takeout menu across the kitchen table. Lexa looks over the menu for her favourite order, and is shocked to see Marcus has circled it.

  

“1793 can wait,” Is all Marcus says. He’s rummaging through the drawers, looking for something. After a moment of silence, he catches Lexa scanning the menu. “That is what you like, isn’t it? You haven’t changed your tastes that much?” Lexa smiles, sweetly.

  

“Yes, it’s right. It’s just nice that you knew.”

  

Marcus sets the table in the kitchen, and Lexa sits eagerly in the living room, in the chair closest to the front door. It’s a small house, and so even when rooms apart, they can still talk. But they don’t. With only the two of them living there, the house is more than big enough, though to Lexa it seems to have shrunk as she’s gotten older. She can only imagine what it was like when she was younger. With a small child only just learning to explore the world, and her mother taking up space as well, it must have been hectic and full of life. That’s how Lexa likes to imagine it, but that’s not how she remembers it. That’s not how it is now. The life is still there, the lights are still on, but nothing ever seems to move. It’s like an image of a house, more than a real one.

  

The night air stings gently at Lexas skin as she accepts the food at the door from the delivery man. She offers the man a smile and the largest tip she can manage, which isn’t much, before waving him away. Marcus and Lexa had ordered the meals half an hour ago, and have barely spoken a word to each other in the meantime. Lexa imagines that kind of silence would drive most households mad, but these two are more than used to it. A comfortable silence is the truest way to convey love, as far as Lexa is concerned.

  

Lexas feelings of discomfort and unease begin to sink in again, however, as the two of them sit at polar ends of the table. It’s not a large table, and so not a large distance, but Lexa feels like she is somehow far away from Marcus’ mind. She senses a change in the air. Lexa makes no mention of the way Marcus’ smile fades, or the way she sees him tense his back as he sits.

 

Marcus shuffles in quiet unease for so long, as if he’s trying to speak but can’t, it actually starts to amuse her.

 

“Speak.” She says lightly, the next time they lock eyes. She makes her humour clear in her voice, and it seems to rest him. He laughs inwardly, as if realising how silly he must seem. It is still a while before he does speak, however, and once he is settled, Lexa is in no mood to rush him.

  

He seems old again, though.

  

“I have news.” He says, broaching the subject carefully. All the nervous humour from earlier is gone. His arms rest parallel on the table, no longer eating. Lexa continues to eat, just to give her hands something to do.

  

“If it’s bad I would rather you not keep me in suspense.”

  

“No, no! Not at all. It’s good. I promise you it’s good,” He is smiling, now, as if trying to convince himself. “It’s actually something I’ve been meaning to mention for a while.”

  

Lexa runs through the possibilities in her head, and finds them lacking. The only likely option that occurs to her is a promotion, which she rules out. She doubts that would call for such a serious meeting.

  

“If it’s good then tell me.”

 

“Well, it’s a few things.” He seems to struggle for words for a moment when Lexa notices his face clear, and he just comes out with it. A grin spreading into view like she’s never seen before. “I’m seeing someone. I’m engaged.”

  

Lexa goes through a range of emotions in a split second, not all of them positive. But she decides to settle on the emotion she knows is appropriate.

 

“That’s great,” She cheers, her eyes widening in surprise. She sees Marcus’ shoulders release what looks like years of pent up tension. “How long has this been going on? You should have told me.” Both of them are standing, and they meet halfway across the room, bringing each other into a hug where neither really knows what to do with their arms.

  

“A few years, on and off, though we go back a lot further than that.”

  

When they sit back at the table, they sit next to each other.

  

“I’m happy for you,” Lexa says. She’s not sure whether she says it because she feels it, or because she thinks she should. “Tell me about her.” Marcus looks down at his food smirking like a teenager. Ironic, since he was sitting next to one. It’s the most alive Lexa has seen him.

  

“She’s…” Marcus begins, seemingly unable to find the right words. “She’s a force of nature. She’s one of the most powerful women I’ve ever met,” And then he pauses, as if acknowledging the weight of his words. “You’d like her.”

  

The words strike a chord with Lexa, hitting something deep inside her chest. It’s not often they have real conversations. It’s normally superficial. How was school? How was work? Good. Good. Conversations are rare. Admiration is rarer. Lexa never had her report cards hanging on the fridge as she grew up, because they were all A’s, and Marcus expected nothing less. It means a lot for Lexa to hear him say it, say he’s proud, even indirectly.

 

“What does she do?” Lexa asks.

 

“She’s a doctor.” Marcus explains. Powerful woman indeed. It’s clear that now there are two women in Marcus’ life that he’s proud of. Lexa chuckles at the look on his face.

  

“Of course she is. You’d never go for someone normal.”

  

When the conversation dies down, the silence is comfortable, as it always is. Yet it’s filled with a warmth that wasn’t there before. Lexa has questions. Lexa always has questions, it’s in her nature. She gets that from him. But she doesn’t want to pry, knowing he’ll tell her more when he’s ready.

  

They continue their meals, neither feeling the need to fill the silence with sound. Lexa allows herself the occasional glance at her father. She’s trying to analyse him, figure out what else is going on. Because she knows her father. She knows how to tell when something isn’t quite right. She watches his eyes flicker back and forth, fighting a silent battle inside his head. His movements are slow and composed, another trait Lexa gets from him. He’s always been good with words, and that’s because he thinks before he speaks. Lexa assumes that’s what the battle is, behind the eyes. Him trying to find the words.

 

Lexa washes up when they’re done. He thanks her, adding that he’ll pay her back for the meal. She wants to tell him it’s fine, though she knows he’ll pay her anyway. He knows this too, and so she simply smiles and the conversation passes through their heads unspoken, but understood by both.

  

She knows what he’s trying to say. He hovers in the kitchen behind her as she cleans the plates in the sink. She knows what he wants to say, and she knows what he will say instead, long before any of it happens.

  

_I’m sorry about your mother._

“How do you feel about this?” He finally asks as she dries her hands and turns to face him. His face is a mask. Far less concerned than he actually is. Lexa admires him for trying.

  

“I’m happy for you, Marcus. Of course I am,” He stares at her, unconvinced. They really are too much alike. He knows her just as much as she knows him. Against her natural instincts, Lexa crosses the room and hugs him again. A real hug, this time, and it seems to catch them both off guard. They are both smiling softly as they pull away. “I’ll manage.” Lexa explains, honestly. “My emotions are irrelevant. It’s your life, you deserve happiness.”

 

“You’re sure?”

  

_No, I’m not sure._

Instead of answering the question he asked, Lexa decides to answer the question he wants to ask. The words catch in her throat, though she doesn’t quite know why.

 

“I.... never knew her,” The words hang in the air. It seems to take Marcus a second to notice the shift, to realise exactly who Lexa is talking about. But when he catches up, the words seem heavy on him. “You can’t miss someone you never knew. Even your mother.”

  

Marcus doesn’t speak. He only nods. His gaze is a tortured mix of apologetic and appreciative. Lexa begins back up the stairs, thinking they are done, when Marcus calls after her. He stands at the foot of the stairs looking up at her, and she turns halfway up.

  

“You know why I’m telling you this now.” Marcus says. It’s not a question.

  

“She’s moving in.” Lexa says plainly, no hint of emotion. She prides herself on how calm she is despite the conflicting feelings. After all, Marcus did always joke that her first word was stoic.

  

Marcus is frozen at the base of the stairs. He isn’t smiling, in fact all she sees now is concern. He looks again as he did when they first sat at the table. All of a sudden, he seems ancient. Marcus stands up straight and put his hands behind his back. Lexa knows that pose.

  

Lexa knows something is wrong long before the words are actually spoken. It feels like a shift, a dynamic change. It upsets something deep within her stomach, for reasons she doesn’t quite understand.

  

“Actually,” Marcus says cautiously. “I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that.”

 

//

 

Clarke Griffin practically collapses through the door to her house, her vision blurred and her limbs heavy. She’d been at the door for what felt like an eternity, swearing as silently and as violently as she could. The key hole had kept running away from her, and every time she got the key near the lock everything seemed to go all floppy. The darkness didn’t help. After walking the length of her garden, the nearest streetlight was miles away, and her selfish mother had turned the porch light off. Clarke can’t help but smile at her mother's bitterness though, like it’s a game. It’s nice that she cares enough to be petty.

  

Clarke stumbles over something in the kitchen, and turns to yell at whatever it was before remembering it’s the middle of the night, and that she’s very, very drunk. She clambers through the house, clinging to whatever she can for support. It’s a lot harder to navigate in the dark. Everything seems louder, so much louder, and so much further away too. Had Abby stretched the house while she was out?

  

Clarke starts kicking her boots off, deciding suddenly that they are the cause of all the noise in the world. And as if to prove her point, they thud heavily against the wall when she kicks them across the room, and clang against every object they find on the way down. Clarke laughs at the melody they make, before collecting herself. She needs to be silent, she reminds herself, like a ghost. She starts to imagine herself as a ninja, which makes her start laughing again.

  

She’s halfway up the stairs when she realises she never locked the door. She swears in frustration, again forgetting that she’s trying not to wake up her mother. Her head wobbles as she turns, and she walks back down with her eyes closed to stop the nausea. When she gets to the door, bumping into everything a second time on the way, she finds that it’s locked. It locks automatically.

 

“Oh, yeah.” Clarke whispers to herself, though after a few seconds she starts to find it funny. She turns unevenly on the spot, and is hit by a wave of dizziness. She decides that maybe she’ll just sleep by the door. She can check to see if it’s still locked in a few hours, that way. She’s too sleepy to make it up the stairs anyway, and the wood is a lot softer than she would have guessed.

 

She’s just about to collapse against it and doze off, when the room fills with light. Clarke groans and closes her eyes from the blinding light. She steps back and hits her head on the door, groaning again. Before her eyes slammed shut, she just had time to make out a very angry looking silhouette standing across the room, by the light switch.

  

“Oh, fuck.” Clarke slurs. She meant to whisper it to herself, but her voice didn’t get the message, and she ends up blurting it out far too loud. Though in her drunken state, she still manages to find some amusement in the situation. She blinks her eyes open looking down and away from the light, and conveniently, away from her mother too.

 

Clarke hears clomping footsteps pounding across the room. Is it possible for footsteps to sound angry? She realises they’re getting closer to her.

 

“Do I even need to tell you how late it is?” Comes her mother’s voice, somehow soft and booming at the same time. Her concern is clear in the way her voice wavers, just about, but the anger wins out in her tone. Clarke is still having trouble seeing, which isn’t helped when Abby cups a hand gently beneath Clarkes chin and pulls her face towards her.

  

Looking her mother in the eyes starts to bring her back to reality.

  

“Why do you even care?” Clarke asks, her voice sounding a lot stronger than her body feels. “You never normally do.”

 

“Don’t act like I don’t care just because I allow you some freedom,” Her mother retorts. “You can do whatever you like with your time, but you do not storm out of the house in the middle of a conversation.” Clarke snorts out a laugh, crude and demeaning.

 

“An argument, you mean. You practically kicked me out.” Clarke’s head is still spinning, but she is present enough to register the hurt on her mother's face.

  

“You made it an argument, Clarke. I was just trying to talk to you.”

 

“Yeah, for the first time in months, and just to drop a bomb on me.” Clarke pushes her mother's hand away from her face, and barrels past her into the living room. Clarke hears Abby following.

 

“That’s not fair.” She calls after Clarke. “You’re acting like a child.” Clarke doesn’t know how to respond to that without sounding like one. She knows she’s slurring her words, no matter how much she tries to focus. So instead she ignores her and decides to put on her boots again. Coming home was a mistake.

  

“You can’t run away from this Clarke. It’s happening.” Clarke is stumbling around the living room, barely able to stand, looking for the other boot to put on her bare foot. She can’t even look at her mother.

  

Somewhere, at the back of her mind, Clarke knows Abby is right. She knows she’s being selfish, and she respects her mother for not actually saying as much. But she’s angry, and frustrated, and very drunk. And she has a right to be all of those things, just as much as Abby has a right to try and find happiness again.

  

Clarke settles in the middle of the room, standing perfectly still. She tries to catch her breath, cool off, and maybe stop her head from spinning. She hears Abby approach tentatively from behind, with tiny little footsteps. She approaches as if she doesn’t want to startle her. Clarke wants to lash out, but she doesn’t. She wants to cry, and she does. At the first sign of tears, her mother hugs her. Softly at first, like she’s afraid Clarke might bite, but soon hers arms feel strong around her, and Clarke is clinging onto her too. For a moment Clarke puts aside everything her mother had told her that evening, before she’d stormed out. Her mother stands a half a foot shorter than her, and yet inside that hug, it feels like she’s holding up her entire world.

  

It’s so much more than the fact that she’s engaged, and they both know it. It’s so soon. It’s _too_ soon. And the fact that this man, Marcus, is apparently part of a package deal makes it so much worse. Abby seems content to let Clarke cry it out, and they hold each other for a few minutes, neither wanting to interrupt the moment. Because they know they aren’t done.

  

“You couldn’t have waited?” Clarke asks, breaking the gentle silence the two had formed. She feels Abby look up at her, but she doesn’t let go. “Until I was ready? Or… at least until I was gone?”

  

Abby steps back, maybe taking in Clarkes words, not that they would change anything. And Clarke doesn’t want them to change anything, either. Not really. She just wants to vent.

  

There is an image burning in Clarkes peripheral vision. Literally. That’s what Abby is staring at, Clarke realises. It’s the only picture of Clarkes father that remains on the walls of their home. Clarke doesn’t know how Abby can bare to look at it. All it does to Clarke when she accidently glances at it is fill her with guilt. Guilt for just surviving.

  

“I didn’t plan for it to happen. It just did.” Abby says, without turning to face her. Clarke can certainly relate to that, though perhaps in a less romantic way. She tries not to think about the boy she was with just a couple of hours ago. Abby sounds apologetic, but at the same time, hopeful. Clarke has a thousand things she wants to say, but most of them would hurt too much to vocalise.

  

When Abby does eventually turn to face Clarke, it’s with passion in her eye and her head held high. Though she seems to brace herself before she speaks.

  

“Jake would be okay with this.”

  

Clarke feels like she’ll never be able to look at the picture of him again. She gets a sudden head rush and has to sit down, and she’s not sure if it’s from the drink or from the stress.

  

“How can you even say that?” Clarke asks desperately, her voice barely just a breath. Clarke genuinely doesn’t know. Clarke could never even begin to think about saying something like that. Clarke can tell Abby is trying to be gentle and understanding, but Clarke knows she is gradually wearing her down.

  

“Am I supposed to be alone forever, Clarke? Would that make you happy?”

  

“Yes!” Clarke shouts without thinking, and the word seems to shake the walls. It hurts both of them like a knife. They just stare at each other, each challenging the other to speak first. The silence is deafening. The love and the hate mix in together too much, and Clarke is overwhelmed by it. Clarke turns and leaves, out of both anger and shame. This time she’s crawled half-way up the stairs before Abby decides to follow.

 

“I know you don’t mean that, Clarke.” Abby calls after her, but her voice just bounces off. Clarke stumbles to her room, before deciding that’s a mistake. She turns and reaches the bathroom just in time to be sick into the toilet. Abby arrives just in time to pull her hair out of her face. It sounds awful, smells worse, and tastes like acid. It burns at Clarkes throat, and she feels like it’s a pain she deserves. Abby doesn’t lecture her about drinking, thankfully. Not tonight.

  

They sit there for a long time. Clarke isn’t sure how late it is, though she suspects if they stay there for very much longer, the sun will rise before they do. Abby is content to let Clarke rest, which she is grateful for. Clarke can’t look at her though. She feels Abby shifting behind her every now and again, to make sure Clarke hasn’t fallen asleep.

  

Clarke loves Abby. Abby loves Clarke. Clarke doesn’t like having to add new people into that equation.

 

“How am I supposed to vomit in peace if there’s two strangers in the house?” Clarke asks her mother, her tone the most playful it’s been all night. Abby, thankfully, chuckles at the joke.

  

“Quietly, less often, and with a little more dignity.” Abbys’ hand starts stroking Clarkes golden hair. Clarke starts to feel her stomach settle with each stroke. Clarke shuffles to her feet after a while, when she starts to feel she might actually fall asleep. She must have been awake for close to twenty four hours at that point. She brushes her teeth and rinses her mouth, and Abby watches. When she’s done she sits back down next to her mother, with their backs to the wall, and rests her head against her shoulder. She’s content to stay there for as long as she needs, and she knows Abby will stay with her. There are no pictures of her father in this room.

 

“I am so shit to you.” Clarke says. It’s not quite an apology, just an acknowledgement. Abby sighs, from deep in her chest.

  

“Yeah.” She says, quick and light. Both end up laughing.

 

“I wonder which parent I get it from.” Abby nudges Clarkes arm, still smirking.

  

“Careful. I am still your mother.”

  

There is a question on the tip of Clarkes tongue, but she doesn’t want to ask it. But it’s inevitable, Abby is right. This is happening. It’s better for Clarke to know the man before they meet.

 

“What is he like?” The words are barely a whimper as they pass her lips. Abby shuffles slightly at the question. Clarke turns to look at her, and her emotions are clear as day on her face. It hurts to see her mother love a man that isn’t her father, but Clarke is happy to see her smile. Abby’s eyes flicker with wonder, no doubt trying to find the right words. When she speaks, her voice is soft.

 

“Kind,” She says simply. She says it as if it means something more, something larger than the word can convey. Perhaps larger than any word can convey. That seems to be enough for a while, she seems content with that. Clarke waits, taking it in. Almost like she’s bracing herself for the words, but also for the new life she’s about to have. Abby continues. “His name is Marcus.”

  

“I know. You told me that before I left.” Abby puts a hand on Clarkes arm. It feels like she’s saying _I’m glad you came back._

  

“He’s a teacher,” Abby continues. Clarkes eyes must widen in terror. “Not at your school, don’t worry.” Clarke practically has to wipe the sweat from her forehead. If it turns out she’d see the man at school every day, she’d probably have to drop out. “He’s so smart. He can talk so passionately about everything. That’s what I like about him. He talks about everything as if it all matters.” Clarke notices the choice use of the word like, instead of love. Maybe, she thinks, Clarke will get to a point where even she could say she loves this man. But that thought doesn’t sit well in her head, and so she banishes it. That’s future Clarkes problem.

 

“What does he look like?” Clarke asks sincerely, and is surprised when her mother laughs at the question.

  

“Ridiculous, at the moment,” She says with a smile on her face. Clarkes brow narrows in confusion, and Abby explains. “About a year ago he started growing a beard. I told him I liked it. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was going grey,” Clarke has to hold back a laugh. Though Abby makes no such effort. It shocks Clarke to hear Abby joke like this. In the way she used to joke about her father. It tugs at her heart, in more ways than one. “I mean… he's a history teacher. At least he looks the part.” Clarke gently pushes her mother in jest. It reminds her of the people they used to be, a couple of years ago.

  

There’s another question on Clarkes lips now. One that, in a way, she’s even more nervous about. Abby must be able to tell it’s coming, because when the laughter dies down, her eyes soften. It’s like she’s offering support, giving Clarke the strength to ask.

 

“What’s _she_ like?” Clarke questions. Abby only shrugs. Abby had only barely had time to mention the daughter before Clarke vanished into the night.

 

“I haven’t met her yet, Marcus told her about us tonight too. Apparently she took it well. She sounds nice, from what he’s told me. She sounds a lot like him.”

  

“So you’re making me move in with two nerds? Great.” This time it’s Abbys turn to push Clarke jokingly.

 

“You’ll like her. I know it.”

 

“Don’t hold your breath. How old is she?” Maybe Clarke imagines it, but Abby seems to to flinch before she answers. She braces herself, like she’s preparing for something. It makes Clarke nervous.

 

“Seventeen. You probably know her, actually. She goes to your school.”

  

Abby seems to know Clarke won’t like this answer, and she’s right. She doesn’t. Alarm bells start sounding in Clarkes head.

  

Clarke feels her nerves building again, imagining every disaster scenario. She starts running through the options of who it could be. There are a lot of nerds at her school. But it turns out she could never have guessed, not in a million years. Because this girl and Clarke come from two completely different worlds, and her name never even crossed Clarkes mind.

  

“Mom, what’s her name?”

 

Clarkes stomach bottoms out, and the anger and the fear and the panic all come back, along with a fresh batch of embarrassment and trepidation.

  

“Lexa.”

 

//

 

  “This isn’t happening, Marcus.” Lexa stands firm in the living room. She’d spent the last hour pacing in frustration. She’d made plans, put forward arguments, tried to talk him out of it logically. But nothing seemed to stick. It’s a side to her father that she’s never seen before. Marcus had paced the house as well, though he was much more reserved than Lexa. His patience was a few decades stronger than hers was. His movements were slower, and his voice stayed calm, even as she raised her voice at him.

  

“With respect, it isn’t your decision to make.” He says. Lexa can only shake her head, because she knows he’s right. It’s his life.

  

“This decision impacts my life too. You should have at least consulted me.” Lexa moves past him into the kitchen, for no particular reason other than having excess energy she needs to shake off. Marcus follows her dutifully. His hands are still firm behind his back, and his shoulders are stiff and rigid. It’s the position he takes when teaching. When _lecturing._ When he’s preparing for debate, his own kind of battle, or when he’s looking to talk down to someone. It’s also the position he takes when he’s uncomfortable.

  

“Yes, perhaps I should have. Though you understand why I didn’t?” They’d done this part of the conversation before. They’re going around in circles, and neither is backing down. Marcus, because he’s right, and Lexa, because she’s stubborn.

  

“You didn't want to concern me with something that might not be permanent.”

  

“I didn’t want to concern you.” He corrects her, leaving out the qualifier. “For all I knew, you and Clarke could have been friends already.” Lexa can only scoff. It’s barely an argument and he knows it.

  

“That’s a lie.” She tells him. There is no anger in her voice, though she feels it. She needs to stay at his level or else she’ll lose him. “You know Anya is my only friend. And from what Abby seems to have told you about Clarke, you would have deduced that we could never be friends.”

 

“Not friends. Sisters,” Marcus adds as softly as he can. Lexa just shakes her head, dismissing his words. He seems to notice how Lexa recoils at the word. “ _Step_ -sisters.” He corrects himself, as if to lessen the blow.

  

“I’m an only-child, Marcus. A _classic_ only-child, as people so often remind me. I always will be.” Marcus seems to be struggling. Lexa knows that fighting this will only make it harder, because there’s nothing she can do to prevent it. Marcus fell in love, there’s no crime in that. He’s done nothing wrong. Lexa can also tell that it hurts her father to hear the way Lexa thinks of herself. A loner. Almost entirely unlikable. It hurts because he knows it’s true. It hurts because he feels it, or at least he did, when he was Lexas age.

  

“You know that _trying_ is the only way forward.” Marcus explains. Lexa has to concede that much. “I know that you’re a natural born fighter, Lex. But occasionally the path of least resistance is the better one.”

 

“If you think Clarke isn’t going to resist this, you’ve clearly never met her.” Thinking about Clarke makes Lexas blood boil in ways she doesn’t like to think about. In ways she doesn’t like to admit to. Marcus seems to pick up on this.

  

“Is there history between you two?” Lexa tries not to think about it. She pushes the thought from her mind. She pushes that distant memory away, and tries to ignore the feeling in her chest.

  

“Not directly.” Lexa says, truthfully.

  

“You’ve known each other since you were children,” Marcus explains, almost pleadingly, like he’s looking for one small thing to get Lexa to concede on. “You must be able to find some common ground?” This statement is so off the mark it actually makes Lexa laugh.

  

“You’ve _definitely_ never met her. Abby isn’t the only force of nature in the Griffin household.”

  

There’s a sound from the next room. It’s a jingle, light-hearted and musical. Completely against the tone of the conversation. It’s not a noise Lexa has heard before, but Marcus barely reacts. In fact, he acts as if it's a common occurrence. He walks calmly to the living room, hands no longer behind his back. Lexa notices as he passes her, that he’s attempting to suppress a smile, and failing.

 

It was his phone. It’s Abby, Lexa realises, it must be. Lexa re-evaluates Marcus' reaction. Now that Lexa knows about him and Abby, he clearly no longer feels the need to hide their communications. It feels strange to her, to think that this relationship was happening around her for so long without her noticing.

  

Marcus strolls back into the room, looking down at his phone in his hand. He isn’t wearing the joyous, youthful smile that Lexa was expecting. Instead, he looks upset. Lexa is again shocked. Tonight has been a larger show of emotion from either of them than she can ever remember. She can’t even remember him reacting to the death of her mother, since she was too young.

 

“Abby has just told Clarke about me.” Marcus says forlornly, without looking up from his phone. “She didn’t take it well.”

  

“I know,” Lexa says plainly, trying not to sound sarcastic and failing miserably. Marcus looks up at her briefly. He understands what she means. Anyone who knows Clarke, even distantly, could tell you that this is not the kind of news she would react well to. “Don’t worry. It will be me she’s upset about, not you.”

  

Marcus doesn’t respond, instead he is pressing rapidly on his phone. He continues in silence for a moment, before looking to Lexa.

  

“How should I tell her you’ve taken it?”

  

The question catches her off guard, and she’s taken aback for a moment. Lexa could say a lot of things. She wants to say a million things, but she knows most of them are unhelpful or unkind. Abby sounds nice enough, and being a doctor, she is certainly someone Lexa deems worthy of her father. And, upon contemplation, Lexa decides she likes the changes she’s starting to notice in him. Maybe Abby is good for him. She likes seeing her father smile. It suits him.

  

Clarke however, is another issue. Lexa knows she’ll be trouble. It’s not that Clarke has ever been particularly cruel to Lexa at school over the years. But she is friends with the people who are, thus making her guilty by association. Lexa can already foresee some of the problems living with Clarke will cause. School will no doubt get harder, both in terms of her bullies and schoolwork, since Clarke will no doubt be bringing the bullies home. Anya will want to come over less, too, if she knows Clarke will be around. There are countless other issues, Lexa doesn’t doubt. But she decides those are her problems, not her father's.

 

“Well.” Lexa says simply, after what feels like far too much deliberation. Marcus smiles in relief. He smiles like he’s proud of her. Lexa feels herself relaxing as well. Seeing Marcus smile as he texts his _fiancée_ makes Lexa think that maybe there is hope. She sits at the table while he types and it’s the most relaxed either of them have been in over an hour. Marcus glimpses up from his phone briefly, before sitting next to Lexa at the table.

  

They both know there is more to discuss, but Lexa doesn’t rush him. Though she starts to realise that it takes him an absolute age to type anything, and they chuckle when she mentions it.

 

“Clarke left the house.” Marcus says eventually. His emotions are difficult for Lexa to read. “Stormed out, according to Abby.”

  

“Knowing her, she’s probably on her way here to kill me. Or you. Or both.” Lexa was joking, though after the words leave her mouth, she considers that a situation like that isn’t exactly unlikely. Marcus shakes his head though, and his brow narrows. He places the phone on the table and looks at Lexa.

  

“She doesn’t know about you. Abby never got that far. Clarke left before she could mention your name.” Lexa doesn’t really know what to say to that. It seems a little irrational, even with what little she does know about Clarke. Lexa tries to think about why she would be so upset. Clarke, despite her flaws, always seemed happy. Kind, at least to the people she was close to. As much as Lexa dislikes her, selfishness is not a trait lexa would have attributed to her

  

“Is it because we have to move to a new house?”

  

Marcus leans back in his chair. He seems as if he needs the room to breathe. When he does finally speak, it’s in a gentler tone than he’s used all night.

  

“Abbys previous husband died only a few years ago. Clarkes father.” Marcus looks to Lexa, as if waiting for a reaction. Lexa doesn’t offer one, however. She doesn’t know how to handle the news. She knows she should be able to relate, but she struggles to. She is missing a parent too, after all, but she understands that it’s different. Lexa never knew her mother.

  

“That explains a lot,” Lexa says, turning away from Marcus to look at the phone on the table. She looks at it just to give her a way of distracting herself. “Thinking back, I remember. I remember Clarke taking a month off school, about three years ago. I always just assumed she went on holiday.”

 

Marcus, thankfully, doesn’t say anything. Lexa doesn’t quite feel like talking in that moment. Instead, she distracts herself. Losing herself to the ticking of the clock on the wall. It goes on for a long time, though Lexa doesn’t bother to check exactly how long. Marcus stays with her, either out of concern or obligation. The silence between them is, somehow, still comfortable. It dawns on Lexa that very soon, she’ll be living in a house where moments like this will have to be shared with two other people. That’s assuming Clarke ever actually returns home.

  

There is something bubbling away, quiet and uncomfortable in the deep of Lexas belly. It’s a memory. The remains of a feeling long ago felt. Lexa tries very hard not to think about the way Clarke used to make her feel. A feeling she never thought she would have to address again. It’s been a long time, she tells herself. She's over it.

  

If Marcus is intuiting any of this, he gives nothing away. Another thing Lexa is grateful for about her father. He’s good with words, but he knows when not to use them.

 

“When is the wedding?” Lexa asks eventually. Anyone else would have jumped at the sudden noise, but not Marcus.

  

“Three months.” Marcus says plainly. Lexa nods. Maybe that’s enough time for her and Clarke to learn how to be civil with each other. Maybe.

 

“And how soon do we move?”

 

//

 

For the second time that night, Clarke finds herself alone and angry, walking through the streets in the middle of the night. Clarke wishes she’d stormed out sooner. She’d spent too long on the bathroom floor, spent too long vomiting, and spent far too long arguing afterwards. She’s sobered up. She can feel every little pain, every tiny agony that she normally gets to put off until morning. The way her head spins, the way her throat burns, and the agony of loss. None of it is numbed anymore, and she feels all of it.

  

As the buzz she’d spent the night forming begins to dissipate, she loses her immunity to the sting of the cold night air. The wind whips at her face, making her wish she’d grabbed a jacket, or at least stopped to put her shoes on. Clarke doesn’t _like_ stumbling alone through the streets of her hometown in the dead of night. So she wonders why it is that over the last few years, she keeps on finding herself doing it.

  

She’s normally on her way home at this time, coming up with lies about where she’s been that her mother would pretend to believe. Instead, tonight she’s running away from home. Away from the place she’d grown up in. The place where she’d mourned her father. The place she’d soon have to say goodbye to forever.

  

When her mother had said that name, _her_ name, Clarke had at first thought it was a joke. She’d laughed, and tried to walk away so that her mother couldn’t tell her it was real. It couldn’t actually be possible, that she’d have to live with her. Nobody is that unlucky, right? But eventually reality kicked in, and the dread followed.

  

Clarke had accused her mother of some awful things, and Abby lost her nerve and said some fairly awful things back. Clarke knew that everything her mother was saying was true, too, which made it hurt even more. _You’re being selfish, childish. I raised you better than this, stop being so cruel._ Clarke and her mother had said just about every cruel thing a mother and daughter can say to each other, over the years. Clarke can take it all, because she knows that they only yell because they love each other. You don’t argue with someone you don’t love. You don’t give them that kind of power over you. What hurts the most is the idea that Clarke will have to share all of this with _Lexa_. As if she isn’t already judgemental enough, now she is going to be there for all the vicious and vulgar moments that only family should know about.

  

Clarke had stayed and argued, she yelled, although all she really wanted was for her mother to tell her it was going to be alright. She’d left when Abby had crossed the line. She’d left crying her eyes out, wailing like a child. She’d left with her mother shouting after her, following her out onto the street, telling her she was sorry.

  

_Your father would be so disappointed in you._

  

When Clarke left, she didn't have a destination in mind. Her only aim was to get away. She’d decided on where to go once the sting of the night air started to get too much, and the rough ground against her feet started to feel like daggers.

  

He’s the only person who will accept her at 5am. She knows that. Maybe she should be grateful, but she can’t help but thinking about how smug he is going to be. She thinks about his face, his charming smile hiding behind that curtain of dark hair, and she hates the way it makes her feel.

  

She wipes her eyes dry before she knocks, and tries her best to straighten her clothes out. She can only hope his parents don’t answer the door. Her hands are frozen, red-knuckled and chilled like ice, and the contact with the solid door stings her fingers. Those seconds that follow, after the sound of knocking has pierced the silence of the night, seem to stretch on forever. Clarke counts to twenty. Longer than she’s ever had to wait for Finn the answer before. But, then again, he normally knows she’s coming. She knocks again, despite the voice in her head telling her to give up. She waits for so long, she starts to feel pathetic. The wind is harsh at her back, her hair is tangled in her face and her eyes are no doubt puffy and red. Does she even want him to see her like this?

  

When the door opens, it’s him. Finn Collins, with those beautiful eyes, fresh from sleep, hiding behind his bed head. He looks surprised at first, before he smiles. Clarke curses herself for the way it makes her heart flutter.

  

“Two times in one night, princess?” She rolls her eyes, but finds herself grinning, despite herself. She likes the little noise he makes when he laughs. He's not wearing a shirt, and she tries her hardest not to react. “I’m not dreaming, am I?” He stands aside to let her in. The house is large and barely lit, but Clarke can feel its warmth. She goes to step past him, but surprises both of them when she wraps her arms around him and buries her face into his shoulder.

  

“I need a place to stay.” She whispers, barely audible. Her voice is a muffled whimper against his skin. It takes him a second to react, but she’s too wrapped up in his warmth to notice. She feels his arms hesitate to close around her, but when they do, she never wants them to release.

  

“Sure thing.” He says softly, with no hint of judgement. She buries her face deeper into him, pulling in the smell of his hair. He squeezes her tighter, as if he can sense she needs it. After a few moments of quiet, she feels him stretch a leg around her to kick the door shut. He doesn't let go of her, despite the awkward angle. She laughs, even though she’s not in the mood for laughing.

 

“Clarke, your hands are freezing,” He says after a while. “One of us is gonna get frostbite.” She smiles without letting go, and trails her hands quickly to his lower back making him flinch. She tries to hold on, but he manages to escape, taking a few steps back.

  

They’re left staring at each other. He’s giving her that smile that lets her know he likes her a lot more than she wants him to. She starts to think about where she is, and why, and her smile falters. They both break eye contact at the same time, as if that tiny connection is too real, too intimate. The room is lit only by a streetlight, and yet it feels too bright. Clarke feels like maybe she owes him an explanation. But she doesn't want to give him one, not yet, not so soon, and he doesn't ask for one either.

 

“Does anyone know you’re here?” He says after a while. His voice is warm and velvety. It’s one of the things she wishes she didn’t like about him. Clarke knows what question he’s really asking. _Is your family going to be worried about you?_ Clarke is glad he didn’t ask that question, because she doesn’t know what the answer is. She doesn’t know what the word family means to her anymore.

 

“It’s fine.” She tells him simply. She feels bad about making him worry, though she’s thankful that he does. He always gives her a lot more of himself than she’s willing to offer him in return. He’s walked around the room, placing the kitchen counter between them, as if she makes him nervous. Clarke doesn’t know what to do with herself either. They’re normally drunk at this point.

 

“I can sleep on the couch, if you want?” He says finally. Clarke gasps a little, quietly enough for him to not hear, as she realises that the last thing she wants right now is to be alone. She appreciates the offer, but she needs to be held.

 

“If I wanted to sleep alone, I would have gone to Wells.” Clarke says, trying not to sound flirtatious. But she’s never been good at not flirting with Finn. His expression is hard to read. In part because of the low light, but also because he looks conflicted. He cares about her. He wants more. More than Clarke wants. Clarke considers that maybe coming here was a mistake.

 

Once it becomes clear that he doesn’t know how to respond, Clarke moves. She knows his house well, though they’re normally moving through it in more of a rush. Clarke quietly wonders what it looks like with the lights on, as she takes Finns hand. He turns to face her, trying to fight his desire to hold her, no doubt. Clarke strokes a finger gently down his chest.

 

“We can talk about it in the morning. I just want to sleep.” She says, the sleepiness all of a sudden evident in her voice. Finn looks down at her with troubled eyes. Like it hurts to love her. He kisses her on the forehead, and even that light touch makes her tingle.

 

“Long day?” He jokes, that smile appearing again. Clarke starts to pull him towards his bedroom.

  

“And an even longer night.” Clarke answers.

  

Clarke has trouble sleeping, even though she feels exhausted. She knows it would be even worse if she didn’t have Finn next to her, though. They lie next to each other for half an hour before anything happens. They hold each other for a long time, and Clarke just breathes him in. He traces a finger gently along her body trying to get her to drift off. She eventually realises that she can’t sleep next to Finn without wanting him, and decides she’s ready. The sex isn’t much, but it’s everything Clarke needs in the moment.

  

The morning arrives too soon. Far too soon. But, then, that’s what happens when you crawl into bed at 5am. Clarkes head pounds lightly when Finns alarm sounds. She blinks her eyes open, brushing a tousle of blonde hair out of her face, and is surprised at how bright the room is. As if the sun doesn’t rise every other morning too. She creaks her neck up to look at the clock, which is flashing 7am at them as if it’s a nation wide emergency.

  

Finn knows Clarke isn’t a morning person, even under the best of circumstances. He knows she won’t be anywhere close to conscious for a few hours, so he turns the alarm off and curls back into bed. He doesn’t lie down though. Instead he stays sitting up slightly, allowing Clarke to fall asleep against him.

 

Mornings can be cruel, sometimes. Clarke isn’t sure how much time has passed the next time her eyes flutter open, though she feels a bit better. As she stirs awake, for a few moments she can’t remember why she’s there. Slowly it starts to come back to her, and it all hits her again as if it’s brand new, and she wishes she’d never woken up. She’s so distracted with the battle in her head, that she doesn’t notice at first that Finn isn’t lying next to her. She doesn’t notice the shuffling in the corner of the room.

  

When she hears it, she rolls onto her back sluggishly to check what’s causing it. She sees Finn by the door, seemingly sneaking back into the room as if he’s been out, and awkwardly clambering to take his clothes off. When he notices Clarke smirking at him, he ducks his head in embarrassment. It’s not a graceful sight, with his pants halfway to his ankles.  

  

“Did I wake you?” He asks Clarke quietly, as if she’s still asleep. He gets back into bed before Clarke can answer.

 

“No, though you probably should have sooner,” Clarke has just noticed the alarm clock. It’s past midday. “Where did you go?” She asks, wrapping her arms around him and closing her eyes again. She doesn’t want to be this affectionate with him, but in the state she’s in she can’t help herself. She hopes she isn’t giving him the wrong idea about what they are to each other.

  

“A man's gotta eat, princess.” He jokes. “We skipped breakfast, remember?” Clarke quietens down, contemplating everything. She doesn’t laugh at his attempts at humor either, which seems to worry him more than anything else.

 

She wonders where her mother is. Is she worrying? Is she _alone_? Or has this Marcus guy rushed to her rescue? She begins to hate the idea, before realising that it’s no different to what she’s doing with Finn. Then, Clarkes mind drifts somewhere she doesn’t want it to. Her sister.

 

 _Step-_ sister, she forces herself to think. The thought of the word makes her cringe. _Lexa_. That word doesn’t sit right with her either.

  

She’s never really thought of Lexa as a real person. Perhaps her mother is right, perhaps that is cruel, but Clarke can’t help it. Lexa doesn’t socialise with anyone, she gets perfect grades, always does her homework and never misses class. She does extra curricular stuff, though Clarke isn’t exactly sure what. Nerd stuff, no doubt. In fact, Clarke thinks she’s never seen Lexa smile, or heard her speak, even. Lexa walks around like royalty, with an air of superiority that makes her impossible to like. It’s not just Clarke that doesn’t like her, and it’s not Clarkes fault. It’s not Clarkes fault if Lexa is unpopular. Abby had said that Lexa had taken the news of the engagement well, which isn’t surprising. Of course Lexa has to be perfect about everything.

  

Finn coughs, breaking Clarkes daydream. She’d forgotten he was there. The reminder of his presence both calms her, and makes her feel self-conscious.

  

“You just had a look on your face like you were trying to do math,” Finn jokes. “I was worried you were gonna hurt yourself.” Clarke pokes Finn hard in the stomach and he flinches in shock, though he’s laughing. She sits up in the bed next to him, pulling the blanket around her still naked body.

 

“I was thinking.” Clarke explains, as if he didn’t already know that. She senses Finns hesitation to answer. Clarke did say they’d talk in the morning, but she knows Finn won’t press her to if she doesn’t want to. She expects him to deflect with a joke, but he doesn’t. The silence that falls between them is deafening, as Clarke tries not to touch him now that she’s pulled herself together.

 

“I guess we’re ditching school today then.” Clarke says, nodding towards the clock. Finn chokes back a laugh, and drags his fingers through his hair.

 

“I would have gone, but I couldn't get out of bed. Someone wouldn’t let go of me.” Clarke really wants to touch him then. Poke him, push him, hug him, kiss him. Whatever. But she doesn’t. She reminds herself that they aren’t a couple.

  

They aren’t a couple, in the same way that Lexa isn’t her sister.

  

After a while, Clarke shifts her legs over the side of the bed and scans the room. She starts pulling on her clothes, awkwardly trying to keep the blanket around herself, as if Finn hasn’t seen it all before. Finn doesn’t say anything, though she can feel him watching her. When she’s dressed, she finds herself collapsing on the bed again. She sits there like she doesn’t have a home to go to.

 

“Everything’s fucked, Finn.” Clarke says, her voice nearly breaking. Finn laughs, as she knew he would, trying to lighten the mood. But this time Clarke doesn’t find it endearing. She finds it annoying.

  

“What else is new?” Finn says, not realising that he is completely dismissing Clarkes feelings. He seems to get it though when she turns to look at him. It must be something in her eyes. His smile falls.

 

Clarke doesn’t mean to explain it all to him. She doesn’t mean to. But once she starts talking, she can’t stop. She vomits the words out, most of it probably incoherent, but Finn seems to follow. She tells him everything. She chokes on the word Lexa, expecting him to laugh, but he doesn’t. She tells him about every horrible thing she’d said to her mother. She tells him about every horrible thing she said about Lexa. None of it is an apology, though. And Finn seems to understand.

  

“17 is too old to be getting a new sister, and too young to be on your second father.” Clarke finishes. She’s gasping for breath, not realising how long she’d been ranting for. She’d talked for ages, and Finn never interrupted. She feels like it helped, maybe, but it’s hard to tell. She didn’t want to tell him about Lexa, she’s embarrassed by her. But pretty soon everyone will know.

  

“Maybe you should talk to her about this.” Finn finally says.

  

“My mom won’t talk to me.” Clarke explains. “She’s disappointed in me. She even has a new golden child to compare me to, as if I don’t already look bad enough.”

  

“I meant Lexa.”

  

Clarke turns to look to see if he’s joking, and looks away when she realises he isn’t.

  

“No, not now. It’s too embarrassing. She’ll know I ditched today because of this.”

  

“Unless she ditched.”

  

That’s finally what it takes to get Clarke to laugh again. A little bit of ridiculousness. She’s thankful he’s still trying. She’s thankful he still thinks she’s worth the effort.

  

“Lexa wouldn’t ditch if the school was being invaded by North Korea.” She makes Finn laugh, and tries really hard not to like him.

 

“Yeah, and you know she’d end up being BFFs with Kim Jong Un after like five minutes, too.”

 

Clarke turns her head to face him, meaning to sound sarcastic, but maybe there’s still something bitter in her tone that makes her sound serious.

  

“Hey. That’s my sister you’re talking about,” It makes Finn flinch, and he looks almost guilty. It takes Clarke by surprise, and she struggles for words for a few seconds. He believed her. Which, she realises, he has no reason not to. Lexa is essentially her sister. It makes Clarke feel weird. “You thought I was being serious?” Clarke tries laughing, but it’s weak.

  

“It’s a very confusing situation.” Finn says sheepishly, in an attempt to justify himself.

  

A silence settles between the two of them again. Clarke hates silences. It just shows that two people have nothing to talk about, no common ground. She imagines this is what her house will be like pretty soon. Lots of people, with no common ground. Lexa probably sucks at small talk, too.

 

“She’s not my sister.” Clarke tells Finn. Her voice is firm, but she suspects something in her face, something in her posture, makes her words seem flimsy. “Not yet, anyway.” Clarke follows.

  

“When’s the wedding?” Finn asks.

  

Clarke feels a pang of guilt, when she realises she has no idea.

 

“I don’t know. I… I didn’t even think to ask,” She moves around the room, clenching her fists in frustration. She feels like punching something. But the only thing she hates in that moment is herself. “I was only thinking about me.”

  

Finn nods, but he isn't looking at her. He doesn't try and justify her actions either, because he knows her well enough to know that would only annoy her.

  

“Do you know when you’re moving?” He asks.

 

Clarkes heart tightens when she realises how soon it is.

 

“A week. I’m getting a brand new family, and my mother only gave me a weeks notice.”

  

 

 

   

 

 

 

 


	2. Like the eclipse of a black hole

It’s a sunny day, but it feels like it shouldn’t be. People seem happy, but it feels like they shouldn’t be. Everyone Clarke passes acts as if the world didn’t recently stop turning, and she wishes she could go back.

 

Clarke can’t enjoy the sun, because even though she’s walking home and basking in its heat, she isn’t really there. She’s a week from now, lost in thought. No,  _ six days _ , she realises. She kicks the curb in petty frustration, as she realises she wasted one of her last days of freedom crying and having cheap sex. She can’t even remember most of it reliably, it had all happened so fast. Just another day gone. Maybe the problem isn’t that the world has stopped turning, but that it’s turning too fast.

 

Clarke seems to have spent most of the last 24 hours living in the future. An imaginary future, planning for the worst and hoping for the best. She doesn’t know what her new home will be like, though she can imagine. She supposes that the house itself, at least, will be an improvement. In her head it’s big, pretty and white. Big enough for two people to live at opposite ends and never see each other. It’ll have a garden, perhaps with a veranda beneath her bedroom window so she can sneak out more easily. Maybe if she’s lucky, they’ll be able to afford a place with a studio, so Clarke can paint as much and as long as she wants. Unless Lexa claims it first for something boring. Clarke will have her own bedroom as well. Please let her have her own bedroom. 

 

Clarke for a moment, stops to think about what sharing a room with Lexa might actually be like. At first she recoils. She imagines it would be like two worlds colliding. Clarke wouldn’t be able to have friends over, at least not easily. She couldn’t have  _ boys  _ over either, though, perhaps that’s for the best. She knows it would be awkward, especially at first. Lexa seems like the type of person who would literally put strip of tape along the centre of the room to split the room in half, and never step a toe out of line. And Clarke can imagine herself crossing the line, both literally and metaphorically.

 

She wonders what Lexa is like when she’s angry. It’s difficult to imagine, the girl is always so quiet. Actually, as far as roommates go, Clarke can imagine that most of her friends would probably make for a much more disastrous combination.

 

Clarke is trying her best to remind herself that this isn’t Lexas fault. The way Finn had reacted when Clarke told him had settled some of her nerves, in that he hadn’t really reacted at all. It’s not Abby’s fault either, Clarke knows, or anyone's, really. Because no one has done anything wrong. But Clarke is upset by it none the less, which frustrates her, because the only person she has to take it out on is herself. Which she knows often results in her mom getting caught in the blast radius.

 

Clarke knows that she would be upset regardless of who she might end up having as a sister _ , _ and that Lexa is just the unfortunate person who’s found herself having to deal with Clarke. 

 

During her slow and arduous walk home, Clarke focuses on the fact that she could probably do a lot worse than Lexa. She tries to convince herself of it. Not that she finds it easy to admit to being wrong.

 

She doesn’t know what her new sister will be like, though she can imagine. She’s only ever really seen her from afar, even if they have seen each other every day for years. Clarke has never really had a reason to think about her before. Lexa is a nobody, by all accounts. Clarke tries to recall half forgotten memories of the girl, that she had no idea would be significant. Most of them, unfortunately, are just Clarkes friends laughing at her, as she stares ahead and walks away. In Clarkes head, at least up until very recently, Lexa has always seemed stuck up and fussy. That’s just how she seems, and honestly those are some of the kinder words Clarke has heard said about her. 

 

Clarke can hear her mother's voice echoing in the back of her mind, and she knows exactly what she would say if she were there. She knows her mother would say to give Lexa a chance, and Marcus too, since that’s who this is really about. But those words aren’t enough. Clarke herself really has nothing against Lexa, it’s her friends that are the problem. Clarkes friends. She’s not scared of what Lexa will be like, but how the people in her life will mock her for it. Clarke knows it sounds like a trivial thing, but she doesn’t want to lose her friends over something she can’t control.

 

Distantly behind the sound of her mother’s voice, echoing in her mind, is another. Barely a whisper. It’s the sound of her father. It’s a warm memory, though it is so distant, and Clarke smiles to herself. She’s glad she hasn’t forgotten what he sounded like, as the years have passed. Clarke knows he’d side with Abby, because he always did, and because she’s right.

 

Maybe Lexa is a good person. How would Clarke know? All she’s really heard about the girl is rumours and insults. Stuff that Clarke had naively believed, because her friends were the ones who were saying it. Maybe Lexa is funny. Maybe she likes animals. Maybe she’s a writer, or an artist like Clarke. Maybe they’ll learn to share the imaginary studio in Clarkes imaginary house. Clarke doesn’t want to dislike Lexa, but she does. She’s been conditioned to, and no doubt Lexa dislikes Clarke as well, though of course she would be better at hiding it. But maybe if Clarke stops making her out to be a threat to her way of life, then she’ll stop being one.

 

Maybe she’s kind, like her father supposedly is.

 

It dawns on Clarke, really for the first time, that this man is real. Marcus. It takes her by surprise, and seems rather silly to her. She starts smirking. Up until now, he’d just been some comically evil mad-scientist type in her head. Huddling over his history books and stroking his evil beard, which Clarke has been reliably informed, is grey. That’s all she really knows about him, and it’s all second hand information. At least with Lexa, she’s formed her own opinion.

 

The thought of talking to them for real though makes her nervous. Maybe that’s why she’s walking so slowly. She honestly doesn’t know what, or who, she’ll find waiting for her when she gets home.

 

Clarke feels like shit, and there’s no better word for it. Physically, she is drained. She knows she looks like a mess, and even if she didn't know, she’d soon figure it out based on the way people are looking at her as she passes them. It’s not a long walk from Finns house to hers, and right now she’s thankful for it, even though there are nights when she knows she’d be better off if he wasn’t so accessible. 

 

She didn’t shower before she left, and she regrets it with every step. She decided not to, because she knows if she took her clothes off again, they’d end up having sex. She knows it, because normally it’s her following him into the shower. She can still feel him on her, inside of her. She always feels bad afterwards, and she doesn’t know why. She keeps going back, because some part of her does like him. But another part of her doesn’t. She feels like there’s something she’s missing, like she’s caught in between two forces pulling her in different directions. One is Finn, and the other is… something. Something vague, something big, and frustratingly indistinguishable.

 

Though she still feels dirty, she had made some attempts to clean herself up. It’s not likely her mother would have taken the day off work to wait for her, but on the off chance, Clarke wants to go home not looking like a  _ total _ mess. She doesn’t want to give her mother any more reasons to worry. Clarke had caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror on her way out of Finns, and she felt shocked when she saw the stranger where her reflection should be. She cleaned up the best she could, wiped off what remained of her makeup and tried to untangle her hair. She gave up quickly though. She was amazed that Finn could still look at her. Especially look at her in that  _ way _ that he does, like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. She admires that about him, but she can’t get over the fact that he’s far from perfect.

 

Finn hadn’t even offered her a ride home, or a parting meal after sneaking off to get himself something to eat. Clarke stumbles home, battling off the growing aches and pains. She’s still barefoot, woefully regretting not taking just a few extra seconds to put her boots on before storming out of her house  _ again _ . Her hangover is nowhere near gone, and her stomach growls at her, reminding her she hasn’t eaten for what feels like years. 

 

Yeah, maybe she  _ is  _ a total mess.

 

Clarke eventually arrives home and batters down the door. She feels safe, in a way, as soon as she shuts the door behind her. If the sun wasn’t still high in the sky, she would probably crawl back into bed. She leans back against the door for a second, taking in the familiarity of home. She shouts for her mom, just in case, but gets no reply. She’s alone, and normally she hates being alone, but right now she ‘s grateful for it.

 

When she steps further into the kitchen, she finds herself overwhelmed by something. She hadn’t really known what to expect when she got home, she didn’t know exactly what she was going home to. But once she sees it, she realises she was stupid to expect anything different. She is overwhelmed, by just how much she doesn’t deserve someone as wonderful as her mother. Sitting on the kitchen counter is a bottle of water, some headache tablets, and a meal ready to be microwaved. Ten minutes later Clarke has downed all of it. She collapses on the couch, and decides to just let herself pass out when she leans over to grab the TV remote and finds herself an inch too short.

 

Pretty soon, she won’t have a house where she can just pass out on the couch.

 

She needs to talk to her mom. She wants to, but also, she feels like she _should_. She feels like she owes her a real conversation. One where they actually talk, and Clarke doesn’t always try to make it about her. Clarke heads upstairs. Her phone is in her room somewhere, or at least it probably is. She can’t remember taking it with her when she left, either the first or second time. She finds it squarely on her bedside table, in a far too convenient place for her to have left it there herself. Clarke is forever losing her phone. She sends silent thanks to her mother again, who had no doubt found it and put it there.

 

When the phone lights up, Clarke is bombarded. She has a million texts, and she finds herself smiling. Clarke is grateful, she knows she’s lucky to have people that miss her. Wells sent the most texts, of course. The first came in at 9am, when he would have been realising she wasn’t in school. It was when Clarke was firmly wrapped around Finn. She feels a pang of guilt, striking sharply in her chest. She knows how Wells feels about her. Why can’t she stop leading guys on?

 

Raven is next, sending only 3 texts. In the first text she swears a lot, in the second she gets sarcastically dramatic about being ignored, and in the third she shows genuine concern. Typical Raven.

 

There are more, way more, Octavia and Jasper and Monty, and Finn from early last night. But they become unimportant when Clarke sees how many missed calls she has from her mom. They started late yesterday afternoon, and go on all night, taking only a small break around 3am when Clarke got home. Clarke realises that Abby had stayed up all night, too, just like Clarke. The only difference is, Abby had to sleep alone, and get up to do a twelve hour shift at 7am.

 

Clarke really does owe her mother a lot more than gives her. She feels awful for being so selfish, never realising how much her mother cares for her. Why did it take so long for Clarke to realise that?

 

When Clarke realises the reason, she starts to feel even worse than she had before. It’s because, after her father had died, Clarke had gotten used to Abby being unhappy. Clarke never stopped to think that maybe she was contributing to that. 

 

She heads down stairs, and calls her mom. Abby answers straight away as if she’d been hovering by her phone all day, and Clarke is already crying. Clarke can’t even handle the different wash of good and bad emotions she feels, when the first thing her mom asks is  _ Are you alright?  _ Clarke cries for a long time, perhaps selfishly, she knows. She tries to speak, but it’s incoherent mostly, just blubbering words.

 

There is a black spot in the corner of Clarkes vision. A part of the room she won’t look at. _ Can’t  _ look at. But it’s pulling her in. It’s that smile, the one she loves and hopes she’ll never forget, hanging on the wall in the part of the room she avoids. She doesn’t want to look at her father, she knows it’s dangerous, but it’s so beautiful. It’s pulling her in, an impossible force, making her look at something so bright it could kill her. Like the eclipse of a black hole.

 

He tells her that he’s okay with this. 

 

When Clarke finally mutters out a sentence, one that makes sense, it’s only three words long.

 

“I’ll do better.”

 

//

 

“Do you know if Clarke was in school today?” Lexa asks. She tries not to sound as interested as she actually is, and she tries extra hard not to sound as  _ concerned _ as she actually is.

 

Anya sits across the table from Lexa, her nose buried in a book so big it dwarfs her head. For a second, Anya doesn’t answer, but Lexa knows her well enough to know to wait. Anya only looks up once she has finished the paragraph. Or the sentence, if she was feeling generous. Her eyes flicker above the roof of the book blocking her face. Though all she does is offer Lexa a firm and slightly annoyed look. The look says  _ Lexa, we’re in a library.  _ After a second, the book is in her face again.

 

_ “Anya.”  _ Lexa mutters playfully, demanding her attention. Anya sighs, and lowers the book. She whispers when she speaks, as if they aren’t the only two people in the room. 

 

“Yes?” She eventually mutters back.

 

“Do you know if Clarke was in today?” Lexa asks again. Anyas expression remains blank. “Clarke Griffin.” Lexa adds. Lexa watches Anya rack her brain for the person she’s talking about. It’s entirely possible that Anya won’t know who she is, even though they’ve been in school together for years. Normally when Lexa and Anya talk about Clarke, it’s in vague terms. Never about her specifically, but rather about Clarkes friends. Lexa cringes internally when she realises the conversations are never positive. She considers that maybe bringing it up with Anya was a mistake.

 

“Is that the loud blonde one?” Anya asks eventually, squinting as if Clarke is some distant memory she’s struggling to recall. As if she didn’t see Clarke just yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. Lexa nods. A curious, if not slightly confused look, appears on Anyas face. “How would I know?” She asks, as if the idea is completely bizarre. Lexa sighs, despite getting the answer she expected.

 

“I was under the impression that you had class with her earlier.” She explains. What Lexa doesn’t say, is that they  _ both _ had classes with her at some point that day, and she  _ definitely  _ wasn’t in Lexas. Anya tuts slightly at Lexa, before raising her book again. Lexa wants to keep talking about it, about _ her _ , but she can’t find the words. She wants to tell Anya everything, but she doesn’t know how. It’s not something she knows how to explain, because she hasn't even figured out how she feels about it herself yet. She wants to go into the situation feeling positive, but there’s an unease inside of her that makes that difficult. 

 

Lexa hadn’t thought about Clarke for a long time, until last night, when Marcus had put a ticking clock on things. Or maybe it was a timebomb. Her feelings are conflicting, and she doesn’t like the old emotions that are stirring. It’s what she wants, versus what she expects, versus what she once wanted, years ago.

 

But besides all of that, she can’t tell Anya. Because Lexa doesn’t ask for help. It’s not something she does, she isn’t comfortable with it. It’s not Anyas burden to bare. This is Lexas problem. A  _ family  _ problem, she supposes. She should sort out her feelings herself. Lexa is content to let the conversation drop, when Anya pulls a one-eighty. She lowers the book to the table again.

 

“Why do you care whether or not  _ Clarke Griffin _ is in?” She asks, a little sharply. She says her name as if the words are foreign and strange, and Lexa is a surprised to find it hurts her a little bit. She had considered the night before, during her conversations with her father, that maybe she would lose Anya over this. She had managed to convince herself otherwise, but now, looking at her friends face, her resolve is starting to come undone.

 

“We were paired together for a project.” Lexa lies coolly. Lexa considers herself to be utterly incompetent in most forms of socialisation, primarily because people have been telling her that ever since she was little. But those same missteps in the rest of her abilities, translate to make her an excellent liar. “It would appear she’s avoiding me.” She explains, putting a slightly irritated tinge in her words. In a way, if you stretch a lot of definitions, it isn’t really even a lie.

 

Anya squints for a second, as if reading Lexas expression. This is for them a topic they usually avoid. People they usually avoid. Lexa gives nothing away. After a moment Anya seem to accept it, and raises her book in front of her again. Lexa thinks the conversation is done, though only for a moment. After a few seconds she hears Anyas voice, from deep within her book. Muffled, as if she’s far away.

 

“Actually, come to think of it, no. She wasn’t with her herd earlier. They did seem to be about one tenth quieter.” Lexas heart jumps a little and she doesn’t know why. It’s concern, though in a way it’s also relief, and many other feelings she doesn’t have names for. “The rest of them were definitely there though.”

 

“You’re sure?” Lexa asks, trying to sound as uninterested as she can.

 

“Yeah, you can’t really miss them.” Anya is chuckling, but the words are meant to condemn. Anya shares no kindness for Clarkes group, and honestly, neither does Lexa. They both have good reasons for it. 

 

“No, I mean Clarke. You’re sure she wasn’t there?”

 

Asking a second time seems to tip Anya off that this is about something serious. She drops the book to the table, and leans in, studying Lexas expression as if she’s under investigation. Though Anya likes to act all tough and serious, both her and Lexa know that she lives for drama. Anya smirks after a seconds, though, as if they’ve shared some joke at Clarkes expense. 

 

Lexa feels silly for being nervous. The best detective in the world couldn’t guess how crazy the truth is, especially when Lexas lie is so easy to believe.

 

“Yes, I’m sure. Have you ever known me to be wrong?” Anya asks. Her words are light, as if she’s joking, but they both know she means business. “You should have given her your number, dumbass.” She jokes. Lexa smiles at Anyas harsh words. Anyone else might have been offended, but Lexa knows how withdrawn Anya is. How shy she really is. If she’s brave enough to swear at you, it means she likes you.

 

Something else passes through Lexas mind though. Barely a full thought, more of a feeling. Like a wave in her chest, warm, but passing quickly. Lexa barely notices it, because she’s gotten so used to ignoring it. 

 

Because Lexa knows, that there was once a time when she would have died to get Clarke Griffins number. 

 

“You think I’m fool enough to risk giving my phone number to _them_?” Lexa jokes. Anya nods and gives a slight shrug. Because obviously, no one is that foolish. Imagine then, how foolish you would have to be, to  _ live with one of them. _ Lexa again let’s none of this show on her face.

 

She’s making things worse. She knows it. Broadening the already large gap between her friend and her potential family, her step-sister. She has to keep spinning the lie, though, at least for now. She isn’t ready to face reality and it’s consequences quite yet, and clearly neither is Clarke. 

 

Clarke didn’t come in today, and Lexa knows she stormed out of her house the night before. Lexa can understand that this must be a lot harder for Clarke than it is for her. To Lexa, it doesn’t feel like she’s lost anything, whereas Clarke must be feeling like she losing everything. Lexa has no real connection to her home, or her mother, and she has no reputation at school to lose. Whereas, with Clarkes father dying only so recently, Marcus must feel like a cheap replacement, and Lexa doesn’t blame her for feeling that way. Losing her home, too, must be a blow. The place where she no doubt lived with her dad. Maybe her house is all she has left of him, in a way. And though Lexa doesn’t like to think about it, Clarkes reputation will undoubtedly suffer once people start finding out. It doesn't make a difference to Lexa what people think of her, because she’s content with herself, and she has Anya. But Clarke is a people-person, and in order to be that, she needs  _ people. _

 

Lexa wonders where Clarke could have gone. She hasn’t seen Marcus since before she left for school, and the only news on Clarke at the time was that she was still AWOL. She stayed out all night, and evidently didn’t go to school either. The only place Lexa could escape to if she was feeling like that is to Anyas house, and Marcus would track her down in an instant. Clarke, Lexa supposes, has any number of friends she could have called on. 

 

That must be nice. Lexa is lucky then that she never finds herself needing to leave. If Clarke went to a friends house, she was probably fine. She’s probably fine. So why does Lexa still worry?

 

The thought that Clarke could have gone to a boys house wouldn’t have crossed her mind in a milion years.

 

“Where do you think she could have gone?” Lexa asks. She was quiet for too long, and it seems to take Anya a second to react. Lexa briefly worries that she might be showing she cares a little too much. As far as Anya is concerned, this is just about some school project. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has ditched Lexa to do all of the work herself, and they both know it won’t be the last. After a while, you stop complaining about such things and just get on with it.

 

“What’s the big deal? You know she’d only slow you down.” Anya points out truthfully. Lexa shakes her head. 

 

“It’s a presentation. We are both required to take part.” Anya shakes her head disapprovingly. When she eventually answers, she speaks again from behind her book, and her words sound tired and world-weary.

 

“Pretty girls ditch, Lex. Nothing new. They're allowed to get away with it too, because the staff don't miss them.”

 

_ Pretty girls. _

 

Lexa reminds herself that she’s soon to be related to that pretty girl.

 

She doesn’t know how to feel about that, and so she tries not to feel anything at all. The more she thinks about Clarke, the more she feels herself starting to unravel, and that’s dangerous given what they are to each other. She tries to convince herself that she’s only concerned about Clarke as a  _ sister, _ and she thinks it so hard, she almost starts to believe it. Almost.

 

Where could she be? 

 

When Lexa gets the idea, she tries not to let it show on her face. She’s not even sure what emotion it makes her feel. It’s somewhere between excited and nervous.  _Like a crush._

 

She can actually get Clarke Griffins phone number now.

 

//

 

Abby makes it home from work long after the sun has set. Clarke felt herself drifting off long before then, but she forces herself to stay awake. She did her best to keep herself busy, maybe even make herself useful. She cleaned the kitchen, which was a mess, and had been for a long time. Her father had always ruled the kitchen. Though he never had the chance to teach Clarke to cook.

 

Clarke had collapsed into the shower as soon as she felt like she could stand for long enough. She feels like she’s washing off a lot more than just sweat and sex. She’s washing away the stuff that matters. She laces her fingers through her hair, and relishes in the feeling of the steaming water against her skin. After a short while, the skin on her stomach has turned a gentle shade of red, peachy against her pale skin. She likes the way it burns.

 

She tries not to stay in there for too long, though. Another habit she needs to break. Soon there will be twice as many people in the queue, and Clarke already likes to hog it as it is.

 

Clarke cleans her room too, picking up clothes from the piles that had formed and putting them in her wardrobe. Though, after twenty minutes of doing that, she starts to realise it’s a little bit pointless. She takes most of the clothes back out, and starts putting them in suitcases. By the time she gives up, she has three suitcases and twice as many boxes filled with things. There’s still a lot to do, and she seems to have not even made a dent in her wardrobe, but it feels like progress. Her room is mostly packed six days before it needs to be. If she’s going to do this, she’s going to do it right.

 

She’s smiling, when her mother walks through the front door. It’s a feeling of relief, in a way. Clarke hears the door click shut from her room, and half runs and half leaps down the stairs to greet her. She freezes in the kitchen doorway, a little out of breath. Abby smiles at her. Neither knows what to say at first, and they stop and start a lot of times. They don’t hug for a long time, but Clarke desperately feels the need to. They stand on opposite ends of the kitchen. Abby looks about ready to collapse, and Clarke feels for her. If Clarke feels like crap after taking the day off, she can only imagine how bad her mother has it. Abby tries her best to hide how tired she is, no doubt for Clarkes benefit. Clarke starts to wonder how many times had she been like this before without Clarke noticing.

 

Abby doesn’t lecture her about missing school, though she must have found out Clarke didn’t go. The school would have called her. Abby knows that Clarke already knows this, it’s a conversation they've had enough times before, and Abby knows Clarke will go in tomorrow.

 

When they do finally hug, it feels like everything. Clarke promises to try harder. Abby seems to think she means just with Marcus and Lexa, but Clarke means a lot more than that.

 

Abby collapses on the couch, where Clarke had fallen not long ago. Clarke stays standing as if she doesn’t know what to do with herself, she has a little too much nervous energy all of a sudden. 

 

When Clarke offers to cook Abby meal, Abbys jaw nearly hits the floor in disbelief, and they end up laughing. Abby cautiously accepts. She does her best to shout instructions to Clarke in the kitchen, and Clarke tries her best to follow along. She messes it up, inevitably, and Abby eats it anyway. From the way she’s smiling, you’d think she liked it.

 

Clarke joins Abby after eating her own meal and cleaning up. Two people on a three-seater couch. They flick the TV on and watch whatever channel they happen to randomly settle on, though neither are really watching. The room is lit only by a lamp, next to her father’s old armchair that no one sits in anymore, and the white glow from the tv. 

 

“What’s the new house like?” Clarke asks softly, after a while. Abby looked like she was just about to doze off, and they chuckle when she startles awake. Clarke isn’t sure what to expect as an answer. She has a lot of hopes, but she knows that she just needs to try and be happy with wherever they end up. Abby keeps her voice low when she answers.

 

“We can go and see it tomorrow if you like?” She offers. She seems unsure how her daughter will react. Clarkes eyelids feel heavy from tiredness too, and she struggles to think of anything to say. It’s not the response she’d expected. 

 

With the way her heart beats just that tiny bit faster, Clarke finds that she’s still a little bit nervous about taking this to the outside world. Every time it starts to feel real, Clarke starts to get a little panicked, even though she knows there’s no real reason to.

 

Clarke hadn’t really asked Abby the question she’d wanted to ask. The real question was a nervous whisper at the back of her mind. What she wanted to ask, was  _ how many bedrooms does it have? _

 

“Is it empty?” She asks instead.

 

Abby seems to know what she means. Clarke doesn’t want to go and stare at a strangers house, especially one that will already feel strange to her.

 

“I don’t know,” Abby answers honestly. “There was a family there when we went to view it.” Clarke considers. It’s some families home. Some other family, not hers. But then Clarke surprises herself. Because as the word  _ Family  _ passes through her head, there were for just a second, four people in the frame.

 

“What kind of family?” Clarke asks, though she’s unsure why. Abby laughs, as if the question is funny.

 

“I’m not sure I know how to answer that, Clarke,” She says, and Clarke starts chuckling lightly too. It’s not so much the words that make her laugh, but her mother. “A nice family,” She continues after a while. “That’s what made us choose it.”

 

Clarke lingers on the word  _ us.  _ Marcus had chosen a house because the previous family seemed nice. She likes that. It sounds like something her father would do.

 

“I don’t want to go if they’re still there,” Clarke explains. “That might be weird.”

 

“We can just drive passed. You can get an idea for it.”

 

“Is it big? In my head it’s big. And white. And it has a garden, and a porch, with like a swing, and stuff.” Abby chuckles, and rests a hand on Clarkes leg, which she’d curled up underneath her.

 

“Sounds nice. How much money do you think history teachers make, though?”

 

Clarkes only answer is in the form of a smile. The two of them turn back to the tv, though Clarke gets the feeling neither are really watching it. Abby occasionally picks up her phone, and smiles at whatever she’s reading. Clarke doesn’t ask who it is on the other end. Clarke lives for moments like this, when her and her mom aren’t fighting. Sometimes she forgets that it can be like this, when the two of them get wrapped up in fights that don’t matter. This is what it used to be like, every night, when there was a third person in the room. Sitting between them on the couch, like a bridge, in more ways than one. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try and get that back.

 

“What happened to Lexas mother?”

 

It takes Clarke a moment to realise that the words had come from her. Clarke doesn’t know where the question came from. She didn’t plan on asking it until the second the words were passing her lips. It’s not something she had ever thought about, but suddenly she felt like she needs to know. Clarke obviously hopes that the answer is something easy like divorce, at least as far as divorce can be considered easy. But there’s something in the way Abby takes a moment to pull her eyes away from the screen, that makes her think that’s not the case. Abby hesitates, almost grimaces, before she answers.

 

“I don’t know, honestly.” She turns her eyes to Clarke, as if gauging her reaction. “I know she died, but not much more. I don’t know her name.”

 

“Marcus didn’t tell you?”

 

Abby shakes her head. 

 

“It was a long time ago. She might have died giving birth to Lexa, I don't know.”

 

Clarke isn’t sure how to feel. It’s not at all what she’d expected, as an answer. It seems so strange, for someone to not talk about someone so significant in their lives, even if they are gone. Clarkes stomach drops, when she thinks that there might one day come a time, when Abby no longer talks about her dad. She expels the thought from her mind.

 

“That’s so strange.” Is all Clarke can say. “Don’t you want to know?”

 

For a while it seems like she won’t answer. Maybe she doesn’t know the answer. She’s got her phone in her hand, and she’s glancing down at it, the light reflecting tiny white rings in her eyes. She sends a message, and then looks up at Clarke. Despite the topic of conversation, there seems to be a little bit of optimism in Abby's voice when she answers.

 

“I can’t make him talk about it. Maybe you can ask your sister about it one day.”

 

Clarke has absolutely no idea how to respond to that. It stuns her into complete silence, which anyone who knows her, will tell you is rare. Abby turns back to the tv. Eventually, so does Clarke. They don’t speak again, not for a while. One program finishes, another comes on, and that one finishes as well. When Clarke goes to speak again, she see abby has fallen asleep. Clarke smiles, and wakes her as gently as she can. She remembers when her dad used to just be able to carry her to bed when she got home from a long shift.

 

She says goodnight to her mom, and gets into bed herself not long after. She normally can’t sleep very well alone, but tonight she feels like she will. 

 

The lights have only been out for a few minutes, when the room lights up a pale white. Clarke blinks her eyes open, squinting to see as her eyes adjust. It’s her phone. She assumes it’s Finn, because it’s always Finn at this hour. She probably shouldn’t have gone back to him a second time, that was a mistake. She grabs her phone to tell him she’s not up for it tonight. 

 

It isn’t Finn.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Given how far apart they started

Lexa wakes to the gentle sound of rain pattering against her window. She finds herself listening to it long before her eyes open, and in a way she dreams of it, curling deeper into sleep and losing herself to the sound. Her bed lies directly beneath the window, and she can feel the telltale breeze of morning that reminds her that the window is open. She can feel the tiniest amount of rain escaping through into her room, though it’s not enough to be a nuisance, since the rain is so light it’s little more than mist. In fact she finds it relaxing, in a way. She dreams of how far each drop had fallen, and how unlikely it was that the drop would find her, given how far apart they started. One drop in a million makes it through, landing on her blanket with barely a tap, and before long dissipates into nothing.

 

Lexa doesn’t stir. This is the best way to wake up. Slowly, as if you aren’t really waking up at all. A drop lands on her cheek, though she barely feels it. If anything it’s refreshing, giving her perspective, as the one-in-a-million drop chills her skin ever so slightly. Lexa has always liked nature. She leaves her window open every night, for that reason.

 

After a while, her eyes open, staring ahead at her bleach white wall. In the corner of her vision she can see the sky, grey with cloud, casting that colour onto everything beneath them. The world is cold, and Lexa likes it.

 

She feels the fine hairs on her arms prickle up against the chill, when she raises them from beneath the deep dark warmth of her blanket. She recoils ever so slightly, retreating into herself for warmth, though the chill is a feeling she enjoys. This is a feeling Lexa has always loved. Nature, in it’s modern essence. Lexa has never been hiking, or camping in the woods, though she would love to. She feels like she would be in her element. Instead she just enjoys the rain and the wind in their simplicity, in a way that she feels most people have forgotten how to.

 

Her alarm sounds not long after she sits up. She isn’t sure why she even sets it, anymore, besides the fact that it’s a part of her routine. She rises before it naturally every morning. It’s 6am. The sun has risen, somewhere, behind the clouds.

 

Beside her rests a notebook, on the desk beside her bed. She tries her best to write down her dreams, though they have mostly faded already. It’s mostly just rain, which she is content with, and a girl. Nameless and faceless, but important, somehow. Lexa doesn’t need to flick back through the rest of the book, to know that she’ll find more of the same. Sometimes it’s raining, and sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes, her golden hair shimmers in the sunlight.

 

Lexa doesn’t know what to do with herself that morning. She has two hours before school, two hours she normally uses, but today she can’t. Lexa enjoys the rain in theory, though in practice she gets wet just like everybody else. She glances across the room at her running shoes, which she’s normally wearing by now. She’s normally warming up for her morning run, glancing out of her window at the streets, enjoying how beautifully empty they are. But not today, and so she simply sits, waiting for Marcus.

 

She hears her father walking along the hall beyond her bedroom door. She glances at her alarm again. 6:15. Just like every other morning. Maybe they’ll be able to have breakfast together for once. She normally greets him on her way out for her morning run, and he’s normally gone by the time she gets back. It will be nice to not have to rush past each other for once.

 

The two of them smile politely at each other as she enters the kitchen after him. He does seem to take a momentary glance at Lexas outfit, surprised she isn’t dressed yet, but says nothing of it. His tie is only half on, and his hair is still uncombed. He almost chokes on his toast when Lexa takes a seat at the table.

 

“No run this morning?” He asks, as if he hasn’t even taken a second to glance outside. This doesn’t surprise Lexa at all. Her father notices the world mainly in theory as well, just like her. Though his views are gathered from books, rather than forever watching the world from behind the safety of a window.

 

“Rain,” She says quietly with a smile. He frowns and glances over his shoulder out of the window. The look on his face when he turns back says _when did that start?_ “It’s been going on all night,” Lexa explains. “You complained about it when you got back from work yesterday.”

 

He chuckles, as if he’s remembering. She wonders what he had on his mind to make him forget, though she doesn’t inquire about it.

 

“One day we’ll move somewhere sunnier.” He says, smiling as if it’s true.

 

“We hate the sun.” Lexa explains with a chuckle, and he nods in concession.

 

Neither of them speak for a while. She listens to the crunching of his toast, while hers steadily heats up the toaster. After a while though, she can’t ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her mind. Something most people wouldn’t even notice. She stands, walks around the table, and straightens Marcus’ tie. He laughs while half way through his final mouthful of toast, once he realises what she’s doing.

 

“I dressed myself for a good number of years before you came along, you know?” He says in an amused voice.

 

“I dread to think.” Is all Lexa says in response. She wonders quietly to herself if her mother ever used to straighten his tie. She’s never asked him, though. It’s not something they talk about. It’s something she thinks every time she finds herself having to do it, which is far more often than she expects is normal.

 

Marcus stands when she’s done, he thanks her, and walks across the room to place his plate in the sink. Lexa does the dishes in the morning, as is routine. Her father has places to be, and she knows it. Though he seems in more of a rush today.

 

“Leaving early?” She asks him. He groans slightly and offers a shrug.

 

“There’s a staff meeting. Everyone’s up bright and early,” His words are sarcastically light, and lexa smiles. “Because apparently it’s inappropriate to have meetings at lunch, over coffee and biscuits.” Lexa chuckles. He’s hovering at the mirror by the door. Apparently he still isn’t satisfied with his tie. Lexa just decides to leave him to it.

 

“Maybe you should have a meeting about _that_.” Lexa suggests.

 

“Not a bad idea. Except they’d schedule that one in the morning also,” Marcus takes a step back, looking at his reflection. His reaction is one far from satisfaction, but he glances at his watch, and sighs. “That’ll have to do. I ruined all your hard work.” He turns to face Lexa, looking down at his tie.

 

“They’ve seen you with a messy tie before, I’m sure.” Lexa jokes. Marcus nods, half in acceptance and half in defeat, though he’s smiling.

 

“I’ll see you later.” He says as he opens the door, letting in some of the rain that Lexa likes.

 

“Bye dad.” She calls after him, already turning away from him.

 

_Lexa hears the door shut, and that’s the last she thinks of her father all day. She thinks he’s going to a meeting, and she’s sad that she didn’t get to spend the morning with him. She had no idea, that the meeting he was going to was fictional. She had no idea that he was actually on his way to see his girlfriend before work. She had no idea, that in two years time, he would call Lexa down from her bedroom and announce his engagement to this woman._

_She had no idea, that today is the day she’ll start to fall in love with Clarke Griffin._

 

Lexa wanders aimlessly around the house for the time she has left before school. She braids her hair, then unbraids it, and then braids it again. There was nothing wrong with it the first time, but she finds the process calming. Almost therapeutic. She doesn’t know what to do with herself when she’s done the second time. She’s normally busy. Her routine is planned almost to the minute, and when it’s disrupted she feels useless.

 

Annoyingly, the rain has stopped by the time she’s leaving.

 

Lexa enjoys the walk. The rain may have stopped, but its essence still remains in the air. She still feels its ghost on her skin, and its evidence in the way her breath mists as she breathes. Her footsteps splash in the fine layer of water that covers the world around her, reflecting the sky so it appears she’s walking on clouds. There are no people, either. Something else she likes about the rain. It scares people off, and she feels most at ease when alone.

 

She’s halfway to Anyas house, when she gets a text from her. Lexa stops dead when she reads it, and the rain suddenly seems more annoying. Lexa hates when this happens, as rare as it is.

 

 **Anya** : feel like shit, not coming in. sry

 

Lexa stares at the text for a long time. So long she starts to think anyone looking at her will think she’s weird, so she starts walking again.

 

 **Lexa** : what

 **Lexa** : i don’t buy it

 **Lexa** : you never get sick

 **Anya** : it’s legit

 **Anya** : i’ve got the plague

 **Anya** : and you know it’s bad if my mom is letting me stay off

 

Lexa knows that at least is true. She starts to realise as she’s walking, that she’s heading the wrong way. If Anya isn’t coming in, she might as well head straight to the bus stop. This annoyingly means that she’ll end up standing in the cold for so much longer. Why does the rain keep betraying her when she loves it so?

 

 **Lexa** : i feel abandoned

 **Anya** : at least you ain’t dying, tho

 **Lexa** : what am i supposed to do on my own all day?

 **Anya** : make friends

 **Lexa** : I hope you die

 **Anya** : you’ll regret it when i do

 **Anya** : don’t actually make friends, tho

 **Anya** : i need you all to myself

 **Lexa** : obviously

 

When the bus pulls up, after an eternity at the bus stop, Lexa gets on it alone. She is worried that people will see her on her own, and that they will know Anya is missing, and that they will take the opportunity to torment her. Anya is so often her shield. Lexa doesn’t like to engage with people when they say things about her, or laugh at her, or throw things at her. Lexa considers herself to be better than them, which is maybe why they dislike her. People don’t like being spoken down to. So she’s trained herself as best she can not to react, hoping that one day they’ll develop a sense of empathy.

 

Anya though, strikes out. Maybe she’s a sword more than she is a shield. People are nicer when Anya is around, or at least, less mean. They know that as tiny as she is, Anya has one hell of a bite.

 

But no one looks up at her. Not today. It’s as if she isn’t even there. She sits as close to the front of the bus as possible. The empty seat next to her makes Lexa feel as though she’s missing a part of herself. She’ll make sure to go and pay Anya a visit after school, make sure she’s okay. She’ll have to be careful not to get sick, though, she’s never missed a day of school in her life, and she doesn't intend to start now because her best friend might give her the plague.

 

The kids behind her on the bus are surprisingly quiet. If Lexa didn’t know any better, she’d be convinced that they were planning something against her. But the occasional glance over her shoulder reveals that they are all simply staring out of the window, forlorn and silent. That’s something else Lexa likes about the rain. It mutes people, as it mutes the world.

 

The ride seems to pass a lot quicker than it normally does, even though Anya isn’t there. Lexa gets a final text from her when she is stepping off the bus. Anya asks her to go to each of her teachers and collect any work she might miss. Lexa calls Anya a nerd, and Anya tells her to fuck off. Lexa smiles and puts her phone away.

 

In contrast to the bus ride, the day drags on forever. Lexa is even more grateful than usual that she has work to be getting on with, something to bury her head into and try not to be noticed. For the most part she’s successful. For the most part. Halfway through her last class, she feels something solid and wet stick her in the back of the neck. She new it was coming, the idiots who fired it at her had been laughing for a good while beforehand, probably thinking they were being so sneaky.

 

She turns to look at the idiots in question, as she peels the saliva drenched ball of paper from her neck. She offers no reaction apart from a scowl. Lexa knows it’s what Anya would do, and she tries her best to look intimidating, but it’s exactly what they wanted. She should have known better, this happens often enough. They cheer when Lexa turns around as if they’ve won some sort of game. The group is about eight people big, though Lexa notices, only seven are laughing.

 

Monty and Jasper are up front, no doubt being the geniuses whose idea it was. Lexa doesn’t mind Monty and Jasper so much, though. They have been nice to her in the past, when it’s just the two of them. They like to play themselves up for the crowd, though. It’s Murphy she hates the most, and Finn. Lexa has never spoken a word to either of them, but they’ve definitely said things to her before. Finn at least laughs whenever he’s doing something to her, as if he expects Lexa to join in. Murphy though, is just awful. He genuinely seems to hate Lexa, for whatever reason. He’s never given her a reason though, because there isn’t one. He just hates her. She almost leaps across the room at him when she hears him mutter to Finn _she hasn’t got the mutt with her for protection today_.

 

There are others, in the group, and Lexa knows all of their names, though she doubts any of them know hers. She’s heard teachers yell their names often enough, as has everyone else in the school. You can’t _not_ know their names. Raven and Octavia are at the back, smirking, at least trying to look like they don’t find it hilarious. Wells is there too, next to Finn, acting as if they’re too cool to find it funny, though they still smirk.

 

Right in the middle is a girl called Clarke, the only one not laughing. At first Lexa assumes that she simply wasn’t watching, she appears to be distracted by something. She’s seemed distracted a lot, lately, though Lexa isn’t really sure why she even knows that, it’s not like they know each other. Clarkes face is barely visible, her head is down in a notebook with her hair covering her face. She appears to be sketching something, though Lexa can’t see what it is. Clarke looks up, and stares straight into Lexas eyes for just a split second. Lexa has always known Clarke had blue eyes, but all of a sudden, it feels significant.

 

_Sometimes it’s raining, and sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes, her golden hair shimmers in the sunlight._

 

Clarke looks away again almost immediately, back down to her book. She offers only a slightly annoyed glance at the back of Jaspers head, though she says nothing. She seems more annoyed at the noise, than at what Jasper did. It’s as if she wants to be alone.

 

This isn’t the moment Lexa started to like Clarke. That moment had come long ago, whether she liked it or not, whether it made sense or not. But if Clarke had been laughing, a lot of other things might have gone differently a couple of years down the road. Things neither of them could have possibly predicted.

 

//

 

Clarke, all of a sudden, doesn’t feel like sleeping anymore. When her phone lights up and the text comes through, she has to read the words many times over before she believes them. She squints against the light in the darkness, her eyelids still heavy and clinging to sleep. Her head is still weary from being so close to nodding off, and for a moment it feels to her as though she may be dreaming. Her bedroom is ghost white, dimly lit by her phone, casting shadows deep and black. But Clarke ignores all of that.

 

When her phone had lit up, denying her sleep, she thought it was Finn at first, no doubt asking if he could come over. In fact, she was so sure it was him, that she almost replied without checking. But even once she had read the words, a tiny part of her still thought it might be him.

 

A voice at the back of her mind is telling her that it must be him, he’s playing a joke on her, because he’s the only other person that knows.

 

 **Unknown** : hey, is this clarke?

 **Unknown** : it’s lexa

 

Clarke tries to piece it all together, trying to make sense of things in her mind. It’s strange to think that while Clarke was out being self-destructive, Lexa was dealing with this too. Lexa was dealing with the exact same thing as Clarke, the prospect of a new life, a new home, a new sister. Except where Clarke ran, Lexa had stayed strong. Clarke had run because she was scared, and because she felt guilty about living after her father had gone. She felt like she was abandoning him.

 

Clarke realises that Abby would have known about this. She would have given Marcus her number to give to Lexa. Clarke is a little annoyed that her mother didn’t ask, but surprisingly, the overwhelming feeling going through Clarkes head is relief. She reads and re-reads the words a thousand times. She doesn’t know how to respond.

 

So in the end, she just wings it.

 

 **Clarke** : hi

 **Lexa**   : hi

 **Lexa**   : i got your number from your mom

 **Clarke** : yeah, I guessed

 **Clarke** : her idea or yours?

 **Lexa**   : mine

 **Lexa**   : hope you don’t mind

 **Lexa**   : i was worried

 **Clarke** : oh

 **Clarke** : about me?

 **Clarke** : or like, this whole thing?

 **Lexa**   : you

 **Lexa**   : i mean, both, i suppose

 **Lexa**   : but you

 **Clarke** : that’s nice

 **Clarke** : no need to worry though

 **Clarke** : i’m still alive

 **Lexa**   : good

 **Lexa**   : this is so strange

 **Lexa**   : part of me still feels like this isn’t real

 **Clarke** : i know

 **Clarke** : though i think i’m starting to get used to it

 **Lexa**   : me too

 **Lexa**   : part of me thinks even now that we must be talking about different things

 **Lexa**   : because it’s so weird

 **Clarke** : we’re going to be sisters

 **Lexa**   : yep, that’s it

 **Clarke** : it’s ok to think this is a little bit weird right?

 **Clarke** : like this whole thing, i mean

 **Lexa** : yeah, i know

 **Lexa**   : kinda came out of nowhere

 **Lexa**   : how are you handling it?

 **Clarke** : how much time do you have?

 **Lexa**   : funny

 **Lexa**   : really though

 **Lexa**   : it’s ok to not be ok

 **Clarke** : well I’m sure you’ve heard

 **Lexa**   : yeah, kinda

 **Lexa**   : i didn’t want to assume anything, though

 **Clarke** : thanks

 **Clarke** : i kinda overreacted

 **Clarke** : i’m getting there though

 **Clarke** : how about you?

 **Lexa**   : what about me?

 **Clarke** : how are you handling this?

 **Lexa**   : okay, i guess

 **Lexa**   : better than you evidently

 **Clarke** : FUNNY x

 **Clarke** : that’s cool though

 **Clarke** : i kinda freaked out i guess

 **Lexa**   : it’s ok

 **Lexa**   : i get it

 **Lexa**   : well, it’s probably not the same

 **Lexa**   : but i understand

 **Clarke:** ?

 **Clarke** : oh

 **Clarke** : you mean with my dad

 **Lexa**   : Yes, I’m sorry

 **Lexa**   : Marcus told me

 

 **Lexa**   : Clarke?

 

 **Lexa**   : are you ok, Clarke

 **Clarke** : yeah, sorry

 **Clarke** : I’ve never spoken about it

 **Clarke** : with anyone but my mom, i mean

 **Lexa**   : I shouldn’t have mentioned it

 **Lexa**   : i’m sorry

 **Clarke** : no, it’s fine

 **Clarke** : honestly

 **Lexa**   : ok

 **Lexa**   : still sorry tho

 **Clarke** : you call your dad by his name?

 **Lexa**   : yeah

 **Lexa**   : i know it’s weird

 **Clarke** : it is kinda

 **Clarke** : it suits you though

 **Clarke** : like, it seems like something you would do

 **Clarke** : in a good way

 **Lexa**   : thanks

 **Lexa**   : i didn’t always though

 **Lexa**   : i just started one day

 **Clarke** : i won’t ask why

 **Lexa**   : you wanna know though?

 **Clarke** : i guess

 **Lexa**   : …

 **Lexa**   : maybe someday

 **Clarke** : fair enough

 **Clarke** : fuck, this convo is heavy

 **Lexa**   : i know

 **Lexa**   : i was genuinely holding my breath a second ago

 **Clarke** : so what happens now

 **Clarke** : like, where do we go from here?

 **Lexa**   : no idea

 **Lexa**   : honestly, no idea

 **Lexa**   : status quo, i guess

 **Lexa**   : at least until we move?

 **Clarke** : sounds like a plan

 **Clarke** : or at least the closest we’re gonna get to one

 **Lexa**   : yeah

 **Clarke** : if you’re ok with it, that is

 **Clarke** : the status quo

 **Lexa**   : why wouldn’t i be?

 **Clarke** : …

 **Clarke** : ...you know.

 **Clarke** : sorry, by the way

 **Lexa**   : it’s fine, Clarke

 **Lexa**   : it isn’t your fault

 **Clarke:** I feel like it is

 **Lexa**   : well it isn’t

 **Lexa**   : so chill

 **Lexa**   : you’re actually one of the nice ones

 **Clarke** : wow that’s depressing

 **Clarke** : like i’m actually depressed now

 **Clarke** : you’ve depressed me, ty for that

 **Lexa**   :consider it payback

 **Clarke** : …

 **Clarke** : is that a joke

 **Lexa**   : YES

 **Lexa**   : wow

 **Clarke** : well idk

 **Clarke** : this whole thing is confusing

 **Lexa**   : yeah

 **Lexa**   : have you told anyone?

 **Clarke** : have you?

 **Lexa**   : no

 **Clarke** : me neither

 **Lexa**   : i want to

 **Lexa**   : i have no idea how

 **Clarke** : you’re friends with that girl right?

 **Clarke** : Ania?

 **Lexa**   : Anya, yeah

 **Clarke** : fuck, never ask me to spell anything

 **Clarke** : i would have gotten lexa wrong if you didn’t just show me

 **Lexa**   : Lexa is phonetic

 **Clarke** : ...

 **Clarke** : come on now

 **Lexa**   : it’s spelt like it sounds

 **Clarke** : if it doesn't autocorrect, then it won’t be correct

 **Clarke** : my motto right there

 **Lexa**   : it’s fine, we get it all the time

 **Clarke** : i’m dumb

 **Clarke** : you’ll get used to it

 **Lexa**   : i don’t believe that

 **Clarke** : give it time

 **Lexa**   : no

 **Lexa**   : i’m only half sure there’s an e on the end of Clarke

 **Clarke** : there is, well done

 **Lexa**   : good

 **Lexa**   : i wouldn’t have been able to live that down

 

 **Lexa**   : Clarke?

 **Clarke** : you were worried about me

 **Lexa**   : i was

 **Lexa**   : ...is that ok?

 **Lexa**   : i know we don’t know each other, or anything

 **Lexa**   : sorry

 **Clarke** : no

 **Clarke** : i mean it was nice

 **Clarke** : not what I expected

 **Clarke** : shit, don't take that the wrong way

 **Clarke** : you’re just gonna love living with me, I swear

 **Lexa**   : i can tell

 **Lexa**   : it certainly won’t be boring

 **Lexa**   : have you seen the house yet?

 **Clarke** : no, my mom is taking me tomorrow i think

 **Clarke** : just for like a drive-by

 **Lexa**   : sounds dangerous

 **Clarke** : it might be

 **Clarke** : I don’t know what neighbourhood it’s in

 **Lexa**   : a good one

 **Lexa**   : i mean, i don’t actually know

 **Lexa**   : but i know Marcus, it’ll be fine

 **Lexa**   : and i’ve asked, it’s a three bedroom

 **Lexa**   : so you can breathe

 **Clarke** : hey now

 **Clarke** : you don’t know how i was breathing

 **Lexa**   : don’t i?

 **Lexa**   : so i’m wrong?

 **Clarke** : …not exactly

 **Lexa**   : aha

 **Clarke** : you should be more relieved than me, though

 **Clarke** : let’s be honest

 **Clarke** : you were the one drawing the short straw

 **Clarke** : we both know it

 **Lexa**   : i know no such thing

 **Clarke** : …

 **Clarke** : you’re kinda nice

 **Clarke** : i think i needed this

 **Lexa**   : yeah

 **Lexa**   : whatever this is

 **Lexa**   : i didn’t really know what to expect

 **Lexa**   : I was a little nervous

 **Clarke** : i get that

 **Clarke** : i would be scared to text me too

 **Clarke** : i know you probably don’t like me

 **Lexa**   : i never said that

 **Clarke** : and you never have

 **Clarke** : i wouldn’t blame you though

 **Lexa**   : i never said i don’t like you

 **Lexa**   : you’ve never actually done anything

 **Lexa**   : i’m unpopular, it’s not the end of the world

 **Clarke** : no, maybe not

 **Clarke** : i still feel bad though

 **Clarke** : i mean, this is the first time we’ve spoken

 **Clarke** : like, without being mean

 **Lexa**   : well not really

 **Lexa**   : but i get what you mean

 **Clarke** : ?

 **Clarke** : when have we spoken before?

 **Lexa**   : you don’t remember

 **Clarke** : i guess not

 **Clarke** : was it a big deal?

 **Lexa**   : no, i suppose not

 **Lexa**   : but still, i’m glad we’re speaking now

 **Clarke** : yeah

 **Clarke** : no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow, though

 **Clarke:** we’ll have to tell people

 **Lexa**   : do we have to?

 **Lexa**   : no offense, really

 **Lexa**   : but Anya will flip out

 **Clarke** : so what? We say nothing?

 **Lexa**   : no one expects us to be best friends straight away

 **Clarke** : i’ll try and stop my friends

 **Clarke** : i should have stopped them a long time ago

 **Lexa**   : do whatever is easiest, Clarke

 **Lexa**   : I can live with whatever Murphy has to say until we graduate

 **Lexa**   : we still don’t know each other, i guess

 **Clarke** : I guess not

 **Lexa**   : i shouldn’t be worth losing friends over

 **Clarke** : I feel like you kinda should be

 **Lexa**   : …

 **Lexa**   : you're kinda nice too

 

Clarke pulls away from the phone. She glances around her room as if she's only just remembering it exists. For a second, _everything_ had stopped existing, everything but Lexa. She’s smiling, she realises, wider than she has done in a long time. It’s easy, if she just lets it be easy. There’s a warm feeling in her chest, and she doesn't want to put the phone down even though she long ago started to feel the whispers of tiredness again. It feels like companionship, as if she’s been lonely for years without realising it, it’s a little overwhelming. She wonders if Lexa feels the same.

 

She does feel bad about lying to Lexa about not telling anyone about them. She hadn’t planned on lying about Finn, but when Lexa asked, she just found herself doing it. For some reason she doesn’t want Lexa to judge her, though she’s starting to get the impression that Lexa would be the best person to tell. But nobody knows about her and Finn, and that’s not an accident. Ravens feelings for him are well documented. And Clarke feels guilty, even though they aren’t together.

 

She lied, because for some reason she cares about what Lexa thinks of her.

 

Clarke stares into the dark of her room, though it doesn’t seem so dark anymore. She’s not sure how she feels about returning to the status quo tomorrow. Well, actually, she is sure. She feels awful about it. Lexa had said she was one of the good ones, and she was being so kind, too. Clarke had spoken to her about her dad, albeit briefly, and she can feel the significance of that weighing heavily on her chest. She’s never done that with anyone before. She had never told her friends about it, and they had never asked.

 

Did Clarke really wake up that morning thinking Lexa was stuck up? The person Clarke was when she was storming over to Finns house, not even 24 hours ago, feels like a completely different person.

 

 **Lexa**   : have you fallen asleep?

 **Clarke** : no

 **Clarke** : I’m not far off

 **Clarke** : i slept past noon though, so i should be fine

 **Lexa**   : wow

 **Lexa**   : i meant to ask

 **Lexa**   : you stayed out all night

 **Lexa**   : you sure you’re ok?

 **Clarke** : well, I wasn’t ‘out’ all night

 **Clarke** : i just wasn’t home

 **Clarke** : i’m ok

 **Clarke** : ty for asking x

 **Lexa**   : it's ok x

 

//

 

Lexa does as Anya asked her to, and swings by all of her classes to check to see if Anya missed anything important. She knocks on each classroom door, and each of the teachers faces light up when they see that it’s Lexa. As the number of smiling teachers rises, she considers that maybe she has more friends at this school than she thought. Lexa explains to each of them that Anya is ill, and to a few of the friendlier teachers, specifically mentions that Anya claims she’s going to die soon. Almost all of the teachers tell Lexa that Anya can just forget about the work. If it was any other student, then they’d probably have to catch up, but they all know Anya can manage.

 

Lexa only has one more teacher to find. She’s never been into the art department properly before, and especially not when it’s empty. All of the other students have long since filed out of the school. Lexa knows she’s missed the bus, but it’s already been arranged that Anyas mom will pick her up.

 

Lexa finds it refreshing to be able to walk through the halls with her head held high. Without having to look down out of fear of being noticed. The walls of the art department are lined with student art, and Lexa takes a moment to take in the pieces in a way she can’t during the school day. The pieces are abstract and passionate. Specific and colourful. Portraits of people she doesn't know, and a few people she does. In the corner of one of the corridors, tiny and tucked away, like a secret, a rainbow flag can be seen. Lexa looks away and tries not to think about why it makes her nervous.

 

Lexa steps towards one of the main classrooms, the one she knows is Anyas. It’s still a cloudy day outside, and the overwhelming palette of gray is still coming through windows. This room is darker than most of the others, and the quiet is almost eerie. Her footsteps echo if she lets her feet land too heavily, and she finds herself tip-toeing, not wanting to disturb the peace.

 

The door is open, so she doesn’t bother to knock. She steps into the room, expecting to find the teacher. What she finds instead, is a student.

 

Clarke Griffin is facing away from Lexa, and doesn’t turn around when she steps in. She hasn’t heard her approach. Lexa should says something, she knows she should, but she can’t seem to find any words. Each time she starts, the words catch in her throat, and escape as nervous breaths.

 

Clarke is standing in front of an easel a foot and half taller than she is. Her head is tilted slightly to the side, as if she’s inspecting the painting in front of her. Lexa can’t make out what it is, Clarke is blocking most of it from view. She can only see that it’s something green.

 

Lexa has dreamed of this, against her own will. A hopeless hope at the back of her mind, in the depths of her chest. It had started off light, at first. Imagining scenarios that she knew would never happen, not because she wanted them to, no, but because _wouldn’t it be so funny._ Wouldn’t it be so funny if I was friends with Clarke. Wouldn’t it be so funny if we stayed over at each others houses. Wouldn’t it be so funny if we held hands. Eventually, over time, without realising it, she dropped the humour. It stopped being funny. It became a question. What if I was friends with Clarke. What if we were best friends. What if we got drunk and she kissed me. Eventually, not long after that, it stopped being a matter of questioning. It stopped feeling hypothetical. Eventually, she drops the _what ifs_ and just starts thinking about it. It stops being _what if I were to kiss Clarke_ , and becomes, _I want to kiss Clarke._

 

It all happened without her realising it, over the course of a few years, and by the time she caught on, it was too late. She was in too deep, and it felt like there was no going back. And now she’s standing just a few feet away from her, as alone as they’ll ever be, and she can’t find the words. She can feel her heart racing, and she feels stupid because of it.

 

_You don’t have a crush on Clarke Griffin. You don’t._

 

Lexa coughs to get the girls attention, and when the sudden noise escapes her throat, she is almost as startled as Clarke is. Clarke turns, already smiling, as if she’s expecting someone else. When her eyes fall upon Lexa, her smile disappears, and for a brief second, so does Lexas hope.

 

“Sorry,” Lexa says a little too quickly. She tries to hide the panic in her voice, though she probably fails. Whatever it is that Clarke hears in her voice though, Lexa could have sworn it made her smile. Just the tiniest amount. “Is Mrs. Mckinley here?” Lexa asks, looking around the room, because the eye contact is too intense.

 

“No,” Clarke says. It’s only one syllable, and yet it lingers, stretches out ever so slightly, just long enough for Lexa to hang onto it. Clarkes voice is soft, and at the same time it is strong enough to make Lexas heart jump in ways it never has before. Lexa feels silly because of the effect it has on her. It’s as if she’s never heard Clarkes voice before. “She’s gone out for a bit.” Clarke adds. Lexa notices Clarke moving almost defensively between Lexa and the painting. She twirling a paint brush effortlessly between her fingers.

 

“Oh,” Lexa replies. She finds herself staring at her feet, consciously willing her heart to stop trying to escape her chest. “Do you know when she’ll be returning?”

 

“No, sorry.” She sounds genuinely apologetic, though her voice is light. Clarke then turns her back to Lexa, so she’s facing the painting again. “I can give her a message, if you want?” Lexa then narrows her brow, as if the entire situation is a little unreal. Maybe she’s dreaming. Or maybe Clarke is a nice person, when she isn’t surrounded by not nice people.

 

“Are you even allowed to be in here?” Lexa asks sounding amused. She’s slowly becoming convinced that, yes, she must be dreaming. Especially when she realises she just made Clarke laugh. It’s heavenly.

 

“Probably not.” She answers with sly smirk forming on her face. She glances back at Lexa, her golden hair flowing over her shoulder. They both smile. “I have a key. Julia gave it to me. Don’t tell anyone.”

 

Julia, Lexas realises, must be Mrs. Mckinley. It’s a strange thing for Lexa to wrap her head around. Not that teachers have first names, she got over that shock when she was five. But the fact that Clarke knows it. Lexa would never have guessed, that someone like Clarke Griffin could have a good relationship with a teacher. She finds it strangely reassuring. Maybe Clarke is real person, with depth. Maybe she’s more than the person standing next to her bullies.

 

Maybe there’s a chance.

 

Lexa finds herself walking forward. She isn’t in control anymore, any and all higher brain function is now directed towards getting her to not embarrass herself. Lexa doesn’t know what she’s doing, she doesn’t know where she’s going, or what she’s going to say. She just knows she doesn’t want this to end. She knows she wants to stand just that little bit closer to Clarke.

 

Clarke does seem to frown a little in surprise, when she feels Lexa standing next to her, but she doesn’t say anything. Lexa also notices how Clarke tenses, when Lexa starts studying the painting.

 

“You paint.” Lexa says like an idiot. Thankfully, Clarke laughs.

 

“I paint,” Clarke repeats with a slightly sarcastic nod. Lexa finds herself caught between looking at the painting, and looking at Clarke. “I really don’t like this one, though.” Clarke adds. Lexa is genuinely stunned. It’s good, really good, especially for someone so young. It’s a scene of a forest, looking down from above slightly. Still below the canopy though, as if the viewer was standing on some high ground. The trees are branchless, and seemingly miles high, with the canopy of the nearest ones disappearing off the top of the canvas.

 

“You’re joking?” Lexa asks. The expression on Clarkes face when she turns to look at Lexa is one she’ll never forget. Though she had no way of knowing it at the time, it’s the same face she would make in a little over two years time, when Lexas father would marry Clarkes mother. It was pride. “This is good, Clarke. I had no idea you painted.”

 

“Most people don’t. I like it that way.”

 

There is a man, in the painting, Lexa realises. So distant in the frame that he seems to blend in with the scenery. Lexa doesn’t ask about him.

 

“Why don’t you like it?” Lexa asks. She can see the difficulty Clarke has with answering. Her face scrunches up as she thinks, in a way that Lexa finds shockingly endearing. Clarke studies the painting for a moment as if it’s strange to her, as if she’s seeing it in a new way every second. Lexa stares at Clarke in the same way.

 

“The lighting is all off. It’s a very dark scene, and I didn’t mean for it to be,” Clarke turns to Lexa, and there is a brief moment where they both seem to acknowledge who it is they’re talking to. It’s something in the way Clarke hesitates, and in the way Lexa tenses, ever so slightly. It doesn’t stop them, though. “I don’t know how to fix it, without starting again.”

 

“Rain.” Lexa says, almost straight away. “Or maybe, just, the after-effects of it. It’s dark because we’re looking downward, beneath the trees. Puddles could reflect the sky, though the canopy. It could add some light.”

 

Lexa is convinced she imagined the way Clarkes eyes drop to look at her lips, for just a second. Things like that don’t actually happen. Not to Lexa. Not when it’s Clarke. Clarke, who probably doesn’t even know her name. She simply knows her as one of the many people who aren’t as popular as her. She knows her as, well, no one.

 

But then she smiles, and Lexa has hope.

 

“What are you here to see Julia for?” Clarke asks. Lexa literally mumbles for about five seconds before she answers, and god the way Clarke is laughing is killing her.

 

“I can’t remember.” Lexa says honestly. Clarke sighs and turns back to the painting. It doesn't seem like either of them are going to say anything else. And then Lexa turns to leave, because she feels she should. That way she can’t mess it up. She can’t be underwhelmed. She can’t leave disappointed, and the memory can stay good forever.

 

“Hey, Lexa,” Clarke calls after her. Lexa stops dead. She stops, because her heart has melted. Though whatever remains of her heart urges her to turn around. When she turns, Clarke is still staring at the forest. The greens and browns mix well with her golden hair. The light from the windows doesn’t seem so grey anymore, maybe the sun has come out, finally. “The next time Jasper is being a dick, just tell him that you know what happened with Maya.” Lexas brow narrows in confusion, though she can still feel her heart racing.

 

“What happened with Maya?” Lexa asks, not bother to hide how intrigued she is.

 

“Just trust me. He’ll shut up.” Is all Clarke says. If Lexa really was dreaming, Clarke would have turned around and winked. The fact that she doesn’t is what let’s Lexa know this is real. The revelation, as silly as it is, makes her happy.

 

Clarke would wake up the next day completely forgetting they had ever spoken. Lexa would never forget.

  



	4. History repeats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I just want to say to all of the people who leave comments, THANK YOU SO MUCH. it means so much to me every time i read a comment. you are all so lovely, and it honestly has made me so much more passionate about writing. I'm a pretty insecure person generally so i was pretty nervous about posting this, but the comments are so encouraging, and even the criticism is constructive and is clearly coming from a kind place. so ty again, it might not feel significant to you, but it very much is to me x
> 
> Also i had to cut this chapter in half because it was crazy long, so it's just lexas stuff. I'll probably have to cut the next half in half again too, so that should be fun

Lexa had stopped loving Clarke in the same way she started. Slowly, and without really noticing. Lexa used to think about their conversation in the art room every day. Then, after a while, she found that she thought of it only every other day, then only every week. Until one day, she simply stopped. One conversation can only carry a crush for so long, and over the two years that followed, the feeling simply started to fade away. She no longer thought about the way Clarkes smile lit up a room, and she no longer dreamt of her golden hair. The feelings became dull, and Lexa was okay with that. She convinced herself that nothing would come of the way she felt, and decided that the way her heart ached every time she saw Clarke looking at a boy wasn’t worth it. Clarke never seemed to look at Lexa again, and sometimes Lexa would stare at those blue eyes from a distance, willing them to turn her way. But they never did. It doesn’t matter how much you admire someone, if you have to do so from afar. She thought they would never talk to each other again, because they lived in two completely different worlds.

 

In five days time, they’re going to be living in the same house. They’re going to be sisters. Lexa had once thought that nothing would come of the way she felt, and now, in the cruelest way possible, that seems more true than ever.

 

Lexa, for the first time in far too long, falls asleep thinking about Clarke. She dreams of her all night. She slips back into it like a bad habit, like an addiction she’d kicked a long time ago, but now she’s slipping again. She wants to ignore it, she wants to outrun it. But try as she might, she can’t run fast enough. The more it pulls at her, the sweeter the thought becomes, and the more she can feel herself unravelling. The more she wants to give in to it.

 

Lexa wakes five minutes before her alarm. Her first thought, while barely conscious, is that the light from the sun shining through her window must somehow be Clarke, because it’s too warm and too comforting to be anything else. She keeps her eyes shut, and lives in the moment for as long as she can. The light glows warm against her eyelids, as though it’s trying to lull her gently back to sleep. As the sun rises, it whispers its way through the gentle waves of the trees outside, and warms Lexas cheek. It brings her gently back to the land of the living, to the land of reality. She allows herself a few moments of joy before she fully wakes, to the thought of Clarkes warming touch on her skin.

 

Lexa opens her eyes, and sits up in bed. Alone. The rays of light shining through her window are so crisp and distinct that Lexa feels like she might be able to reach out and touch them. The light still warms her. Though it takes only a few moments for the guilt to settle in. The reality Lexa finds herself in feels bleak, and she considers just going back to sleep. She’s annoyed at herself, when she finds that the only reason she’s getting out of bed, is the thought of seeing Clarke. It’s the first time that they’ll be seeing each other since the announcement, though it doesn’t feel like it. Last night, it felt as though Clarke was in her room with her, though not in the way Lexa wants. Lexa could practically hear Clarkes quiet and adorable laughter echoing off the walls. She could imagine how wide she was smiling, and how she curled into bed afterwards.

 

Lexa hears Marcus walking along the hall outside. 6:15. Lexa realises she never set her alarm. She must have been distracted by something.

 

She puts on her running shoes, and doesn’t stop to warm up. If she’s going to outrun the things that are chasing her, she feels like she'll need a head start. Lexa offers a weak smile to Marcus in the kitchen, who returns one, bigger than she’s used to. Abby really is good for him. Lexa tries not to think about it.

 

As soon as Lexa shuts her front door behind her, she takes off running. After fifteen minutes Lexas breathing is deep and desperate. Her feet are heavy as they collide with the ground. Her movements are quick, but she feels sluggish, as if her body is betraying her. Her heart is pounding and the world is moving past her too fast for her to notice. Her hair is in one long braid and bounces in her face as she corners, and she can feel a fine layer of sweat forming already on her skin. Her body is hurting, and she loves it. There’s no one in sight. The world is still asleep, and she is glad.

 

Lexa spends so much of her life utterly and meticulously _in control._ That’s why she runs. It’s her only moment of freedom, the only way she has of escaping herself. When she’s moving this fast, and her entire focus is put into not giving up, there’s no time for thought. No time for analysis. She can’t agonise over every little detail of her life.

 

She can’t stop to admire the way Clarke makes her feel.

 

Lexa tries to shake the thought from her head, and fails, because she doesn’t really want it to go. Maybe she won’t ever be able to outrun this. It’s the sky, the blue of her eyes. The way the light shimmers through the leaves, so bright and gold and beautiful. It’s the leaves themselves, autumnal brown and gold, making Lexa think of a forest in the rain. There’s no escape from the way she feels about Clarke Griffin.

 

Lexa pushes forward harder, and loses herself to the sound of her desperate breathing. It comes from deep within her throat, like there isn’t enough air in the world for her to breathe. It’s rapid and uneven, and it burns like fire. Her chest feels tight and her legs feel close to breaking, but she keeps running. Faster than she’s ever run before. And it isn’t fast enough.

 

She arrives back at her front door, twenty five minutes after she set off, and she’s in agony. She collapses on the front step, and stares out at the world, which is still blissfully empty. Her body hurts all over, but despite herself she starts smiling. Her body is clammy with sweat, and when she leans back on her hands the tiniest amounts of gravel cling to them. She embraces the roughness of the texture, dragging her palms along it. It’s so visceral, and _real,_ as if her senses are heightened. She watches the huge rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, with a satisfied smile.

 

Her breathing is the only sound to be heard, bar the light wind, and the occasional singing bird. She stays still for another five minutes, while the burn in her legs dissipates. Every time Lexa reaches this point of her run, she remembers why she does it. Sometimes it’s good to hurt. It’s better than being numb.

 

Lexa is alone, and perfectly content, up until she starts thinking again.

 

Her main concern isn’t herself. It’s her family. Her father, whom she loves in her own weird way, and the two new additions that she’s surprised to find she’s actually kind of excited about. If they find out how she feels about Clarke, it will hurt them, she’s sure of it. Clarke will never look at her the same way again, and living with her will become impossible. Marcus will see it as a betrayal, no doubt, though he’d likely be too kind to say as much, which makes it worse. Lexa can only guess how Abby would react, though if she has even a hint of the fire that Clarke has, then she won’t be easy.

 

Lexa feels stuck, and alone. She hasn’t felt this isolated since she came out, a year ago. Not that it really counted as coming out. She only told one person, Anya, and her father found out by accident. The fear she feels now is terrifyingly close to how she felt around that time. _History repeats,_ her father would say, if there was any way she could possibly talk to him about this.

 

Lexa steps into her house, with her legs still aching slightly. The door bumps awkwardly against a stack of cardboard boxes inside the living room. There are around ten boxes, stacked inside of each other, and Lexa knows there are more in the shed out back. All of the boxes are empty, waiting to be filled with her memories. Lexa didn’t think she had a particularly strong connection to her home, but seeing the boxes makes her feel like maybe leaving will be harder than she’s anticipating.

 

Lexa takes her morning shower, and for the first time, she can’t be proud of herself for the way her legs ache. She tries to use the sound of the water washing over her to block out her thoughts, but nothing works. But she promises herself that she will stay strong, that she won’t react to her feelings, that she won’t give in. Because that’s what she does. She won’t show her concern, because she doesn’t want Anya and Marcus worrying about her.

 

_Or Clarke._

 

Lexa heads into her room to dry off and get dressed. Her mind wanders against her will while she’s drying her hair. Monotony invokes daydreams, and Lexa has a lot to dream about. She had suggested to Clarke that they stick to the status quo, and maybe that's for the best, though she’s struggling to remember why. She doesn’t want to ignore Clarke, she wants to be with her and and talk to her and just _look_ at her, and she got the feeling last night that Clarke doesn’t want to ignore her either. But that’s ridiculous, surely. They’re strangers still. Lexa convinces herself that she must be projecting her own feelings onto Clarke, seeing what she wants to see.

 

Lexa thinks about Anya too. That’s another reason to be concerned. Anya does _not_ like Clarke, and for good reason. In a way, Lexa wishes that she had just told Anya the truth straight away, but another part of her is terrified to do so. Lexa doesn’t really think that Anya would stop being friends with her, not really, but now there’s the added complication that Lexa lied to her in the first place. She won’t be pleased about that either.

 

Even though it’s all happened in just over a day, Lexa is convinced already that she’s slowly ruining everything.

 

Lexa is lost in thought for so long, that she ends up running late. She is literally ruining _everything._ She has to be in school by 8:15. At 8am, she’s just rushing to leave the house, and she has to find time to pick Anya up on the way.

 

Lexa thinks back to the way she was feeling this time two years ago, the day when she first properly started to fall for Clarke. Clarke had caught her off guard then. But not today. Today, she will be prepared. Today she will be strong, and not give in to the way she feels.

 

_You don’t have a crush on Clarke Griffin. You don’t._

 

This lasts about five minutes.

 

Lexa is just getting into her car, when her phone buzzes in her bag. She throws the bag onto the passenger seat, and while she’s rummaging for her phone, she hears it buzz again. The most recent text is from Anya. She grimaces as she reads it, and starts the car.

 

 **Anya** : so are you lost, broken down, or dead?

 **Lexa** : no

 **Lexa** : i’m running late

 **Anya** : holy shit

 

Lexa throws the phone back into her bag, when she remembers her phone buzzed twice. She finds her phone again, glancing at the time nervously in the corner of the screen. She has to make a 30 minute trip in half that time.

 

 **Clarke** : good morning x

 

Lexa completely forgets what time it is. At first she doesn’t believe it, as if somehow she still believed there was a chance she had imagined everything else. Seeing Clarkes name, thinking about her, it’s actually rather calming. All of Lexas panic is gone, and all of her self-awareness, too. She’s smiling like an idiot.

 

This doesn’t feel to her like the status quo, but she isn’t complaining.

 

 **Lexa**   : morning x

 **Lexa**   : i’ve been awake for over two hours already, but still

 **Lexa**   : good morning x

 **Clarke** : such a dork x

 **Lexa**   : where are you?

 **Lexa**   : please tell me you aren’t just waking up

 **Clarke** : ok

 **Clarke** : i won’t tell you that

 **Lexa**   : you’ll be late

 **Clarke** : looks like it, yes

 **Lexa**   : what a wild life you have

 **Clarke** : sleep all night and nap all day x

 **Clarke** : where are you?

 **Lexa**   : ...also late

 **Clarke** : holy shit

 **Lexa**   : shush

 **Lexa**   : i would offer to pick you up

 **Lexa**   : but you know

 **Lexa**   : status quo

 **Clarke** : don’t worry about it

 **Clarke** : i’m the one who hit snooze a bajillion times

 **Lexa**   : if you say so

 **Lexa**   : also, i have to get Anya

 **Clarke** : well there you go

 **Clarke** : wait

 **Clarke** : you can drive?

 **Lexa**   : well, not right now

 **Lexa**   : someone won’t stop texting me x

 **Clarke** : you know i nearly just asked who

 **Clarke** : fucking hell

 **Clarke** : it’s early

 

Lexa puts her phone away, because she knows if she responds to that she’ll never stop. Lexa can’t seem to shake the grin from her face. She isn’t worried about being late anymore, and yet now her heart is beating fast for another reason. Clarke had text her as soon as she woke up. That means something, right? But no, again Lexa convinces herself that Clarke is just a kind person. The person Lexa always knew she could be, in a way. On her drive to Anyas house, Lexa quietly faces the fact that, yes, she has a crush on Clarke Griffin. Only it’s very difficult for her to feel guilty about it in that moment. Because she’s purely happy. How can something that makes her feel so good ever be _wrong_?

 

When she arrives at Anyas, she’s still smiling.

 

“We’re twenty minutes late and you’ve got _that_ look on your face?” Anya asks as she enters the car. She throws Lexas bag off the passenger seat into the back, and then throws hers back as well. “What’s going on?” Anya asks.

 

“I just overslept. I forgot to set my alarm.” Lexa says, trying her best to sound nonchalant. It’s technically true, she did forget to set her alarm. After a moment of silence, she allows herself a brief glance sideways at Anya, who clearly isn’t buying it. When Lexa pulls out of Anyas driveway, she’s still struggling to hide her smile. She reminds herself that giving anything away is dangerous, but she’s a little too happy to care. Lexa stares at the road, feeling either like she’ll laugh or blurt everything out if she looks Anya in the eye.

 

“Are you high?” Anya asks slowly, after a lot of inquisitive staring at the side of Lexas head.

 

“Yes.” Lexa says firmly, and they leave it at that.

 

They arrive at school just barely on time, somehow. Maybe because Lexa is normally an overly cautious driver, but today she had other stuff on her mind.

 

Lexa finds herself strangely sad later in the day when she first sights Clarkes friends, and it’s not for the usual reason. It’s because Clarke isn’t there. Anya and Lexa end up splitting up for most of the morning, allowing Lexa far too much time to herself to think. She’s right on the edge of getting her phone out in class to text Clarke, but she restrains herself. If it got confiscated and Marcus found out, he’d probably have a heart attack.

 

Lexa doesn’t see Clarke until lunch. Lexa is sat at a table in the cafeteria across from Anya, a table that nobody else will use until they’ve gone. Anya didn’t ask again why Lexa was late that morning, because just like the lie about the project she has with Clarke, why would she? The truth of the situation is so ridiculous that no one could ever guess it.

 

When Clarke walks through the door on the far side of the room, Lexas heart jumps, and a second later, plummets. It happens so fast, that she literally feels the rise and fall of the smile on her face. Lexa notices her hair first, golden in the corner of her vision. So bright it pulls Lexa away from whatever Anya is talking about, because she just has to stare. She sees Clarke smiling, laughing at something, and it seems so perfect. Because now maybe there’s a chance that Lexa will one day be able to make her laugh like that.

 

Lexa is so engrossed in the way Clarke looks, that she doesn’t notice who it is Clarke is looking at straight away. Lexa scans her eyes down Clarkes body, follows the length of her arm, and sees that her fingers are wrapped around someone else's. She follows that arm up, and sees a head of black curls, just as long and shimmering as Clarkes. Finn is smiling just as much as Clarke is, as he leans in a little too close to whisper something in her ear. Lexa is too far away to hear the way Clarke giggles, but she feels it, and it stings.

 

It happens in a split second. Finn is barely in the room yet, and Lexa feels the pain of it. She shows none of it on her face. She turns back to Anya and Clarke fades into the background as she joins the line for food. Anya is still talking, and hasn’t registered any of what Lexa is thinking. Lexa stays calm, stoic. She sits upright, as she always does, even though she feels like curling up under the table and hoping Clarke doesn’t see her.

 

Maybe this is good. This is a reality check that was much needed. She was letting her feelings get away from her. She was feeling things she shouldn’t be feeling, for someone who is soon to be her sister, and if she let herself carry on feeling that way, then there is a chance she would end up destroying her fathers marriage. Lexa convinces herself that the pain she’s feeling is good, even if it does feel a little too familiar.

 

_History repeats._

 

Lexa doesn’t know if Clarke has seen her, because Lexa is too busy pretending she hasn’t seen Clarke. She doesn’t even know why this is surprising her. Clarke is straight, painfully so, and she always has been. Also her relationship with Finn is one of the worst kept secrets in the world. It must be, if the information somehow managed to trickle its way down to Lexa and Anya.

 

Maybe, before they’d seen each other, a part of Lexa was still living in a bit of a fantasy world. A world where she could have Clarke all to herself. A world where they could somehow be together despite all of the things keeping them apart. Lexa starts to feel stupid. While she was so busily obsessing over Clarke, Clarke was spending time with her friends, or her boyfriend. She was living her life, one that Lexa isn’t a part of. Clarke had text her good morning, and a tiny part of Lexa thought that meant something.

 

Lexa starts to lose hope. Again. This feels cruelly familiar.

 

But then, she looks across at Clarke. She looks because, even now, _how can she not look at Clarke?_ She sees that Clarke is smiling at her. It’s as if Clarke was staring, just waiting for her to look up. The smile is tiny, but so genuine, like a secret they’re both in on. The wave Clarke gives her when she sees Lexa look up is even smaller, but her eyes are sparkling as she does it. Lexa feels herself smile instinctively. Clarke smiles a little wider, like she’s embarrassed, and glances away.

 

Lexa has hope again, just like that. Like an addict that needed a fix, and the warm feeling suddenly bubbling in her chest is a little overwhelming. When Clarke glances back again, Lexa is still staring. Though she is still too far away to hear, she feels it in her chest when Clarke giggles again. Clarke looks away more firmly this time, like she’s trying not to stare, though her smile doesn’t fade, and Lexa looks back to Anya. Finn is still next to Clarke, though they aren’t holding hands any more.

 

It isn’t much, but it’s enough. Lexa’s gotten her fix, and it’s nothing, but it makes her so goddamn happy.

 

“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?” The voice seems to call Lexa back to reality. Anya is sat across from her, looking a little annoyed but mostly amused. Lexa shakes her head clear, and looks down at her food. “What are you thinking about?” Anya asks.

 

Lexa has no idea how to answer that one. She looks up from her food and sees Anya is squinting at her, like she’s trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle using just her mind. Lexa knows she’ll find out the truth eventually, and she’ll be mad. But for right now, Anya’s smiling.

 

“Nothing.” Lexa replies, though her voice breaks a little and Anya chuckles at her.

 

“Well that was convincing.” Anya tells her sarcastically. Anya turns to scan the room, looking towards where Lexa had been glancing. Looking right towards Clarke. Lexa feels a moment of fear, but it passes when Anyas eyes pass right over Clarke like she isn’t even there. When Anya turns back, Lexa has composed herself.

 

“You ask a lot of questions.” Lexa says playfully.

 

“Yeah, and you don’t answer many,” Anya replies. Lexa chuckles, because really, Anya doesn't know the half of it. Lexa wants to glance over at Clarke again, but she doesn’t, not with Anya watching. It relaxing to know she’s there, though. The only other person in the know.

 

“You’ve been keeping secrets. I can tell.” Anya says suddenly, with confidence. There’s no hostility to it, just assuredness. Lexa responds casually.

 

“Everyone keeps secrets, Anya. A few of the ones I’m keeping are yours, remember?”

 

Anya gasps sarcastically. She pauses for a second, and something close to admiration forms on her face. Then she leans in, keeping her voice low, like she’s rising to the challenge.

 

“Is that a threat?” She asks.

 

“Do you want to find out?” Lexa answers, just as firmly. They hold still for just a second, before they pull apart, laughing.

 

At that moment, Lexas phone buzzes in her bag, and that’s when things start to get complicated.

 

Lexa stays still for a couple of seconds, hoping Anya didn’t hear it. But one glance at her face reveals that she did. She seems intrigued, and highly entertained. Only two people have Lexas number. Anya, who is sat right in front of her, and her father, who would never text her in school. They both know this.

 

 _And Clarke_ , Lexa thinks, though only one of them knows this.

 

“You have been keeping secrets.” Anya says again, more slowly. Lexa shakes her head as if Anya is being silly, and decides to get her phone out of her bag. By the time the phone is in her hands, she already knows what she needs to say.

 

“This was actually your idea.” Lexa tells her. Anyas eyes glaze over in confusion, so Lexa explains. “ _You should have given her your number, dumbass.”_ The two are silent for a second. It takes a few moments for Anya to figure out what she means, and then her face explodes with surprise. She’s smiling, though for some reason Lexa feels like Anya is just laughing at her.

 

“You fucking listened to me?” Lexa realises that Anya is whispering. “God you really are a dumbass,” lexa shakes her head like Anya is being silly, and glances down at her phone. She isn’t surprised to see that it’s Clarke. She allows herself a glance over at her, and she’s smiling at her. “You’re gonna regret this so much, you know.” Anya says. Lexa acts like she disagrees, but in a way, Lexa thinks that Anya might be right. Just not for the reasons she thinks. She’s already smiling, when she opens the text from Clarke.

 

 **Clarke** : what are you laughing at?

 **Lexa**   : you x

 **Clarke** : oh how nice

 **Clarke** : does anya know?

 

Lexa glances up at Anya, and she can feel the girls raw desire to _know._ She’s leaning forward trying to sneak a glance at Lexas phone. Lexa pulls away every time she tries.

 

 **Lexa**   : no

 **Lexa**   : i told her we’re working on a project together

 **Clarke** : ahh

 **Clarke** : is that why she’s scowling at me

 **Lexa**   : probably, yes

 **Clarke** : why did you tell her that

 **Lexa**   : no idea

 **Lexa**   : i probably had a good reason at the time

 

When Lexa looks up at Anya again, the expression on her face is pure bewilderment. Lexa tries to temper her smile. Now she’s starting to feel nervous, she really is giving too much away. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to put her phone away.

 

 **Clarke** : i should probably mention

 **Clarke** : Finn knows

 **Clarke** : i told him as soon as i found out

 **Lexa**   : oh

 **Lexa**   : ok

 **Lexa**   : how did he react?

 **Clarke** : pretty good, i guess

 **Clarke** : he barely reacted at all tbh

 **Lexa**   : one down, a million to go

 **Lexa**   : i thought you said you didn’t tell anyone tho?

 **Clarke** : yeah i know

 **Clarke** : i kinda lied

 **Clarke** : sorry

 **Lexa**   : it’s fine

 **Lexa**   : why lie, though?

 **Clarke** : i don’t know

 **Clarke** : i probably had a good reason at the time, too

 **Lexa**   : stop looking sad x

 **Clarke** : no x

 **Lexa**   : YES x

 **Clarke** : NO x

 

Despite her stubbornness, Clarke stops looking sad. Lexa is smiling like an idiot, and she’s glad that Clarke is to. It’s reassuring. Lexa tries to remind herself who Clarke is to her, but those bad thoughts are far from her mind. They both put their phones away. Lexa sees Clarke collect her food, and take it to sit with her friends on the other side of the room. They don’t look at each other again. Lexa decides to stare down at the meal in front of her, and not say anything to Anya, because she knows it will annoy her to death. Lexa doesn’t seem to mind how bad the food tastes, all of a sudden. After a silence that goes on for just a little too long, Lexa glances up at Anya, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Her eyes are wide with intrigue. Lexa acts as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

 

“You’re staring.” She says plainly. Anya chuckles slightly, but her bemused expression doesn’t fade.

 

“You _have_ been keeping secrets.” Anya says for the third time.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Lexa responds. She’s still eating, and having quite a good time keeping up the innocent act. But as much as she considers herself to be a good liar, she doesn’t have an answer for what Anya asks her next.

 

“When did you get her number?”

 

Lexa freezes. She racks her brain for an answer, and can’t find one. There’s no time that Lexa could have gotten it, because she spends all of her time either at home or with Anya. She looks away from her, as if making eye contact will allow her to read her mind. She stays still, as if Anya might just forget the whole thing. She doesn’t. “You didn’t have her number last night, and you were late this morning.” Lexa starts to see it from Anyas perspective, and she’s piecing it together the way she must have done. Now the panic is starting to kick in again.

 

“No, I can see where you-”

 

“You’re sleeping with the enemy.” Anya says quickly. Lexa nearly chokes on her food. That, to Anya, must seem like a confirmation. “Holy shit. I knew it. I’ve only seen you smile like that once before.”

 

“Anya, seriously, that isn’t what this is.”

 

“But you do like her. It’s obvious. Oh my god, that’s why you were asking about her so much yesterday.”

 

“You have no idea how much I need you to shut up.”

 

This goes on for a long time, and Lexa is losing. It goes on and it seems like there will be no end, because Anya is both enjoying it, and is incredibly annoyed. She thinks the crush is cute, though Lexa still denies it, but she thinks the choice of girl is appalling. Lexa understands where she’s coming from, but she naturally disagrees. It’s very hard for Lexa to convince Anya she doesn’t like Clarke, because she does, but also Lexa finds herself defending Clarke at every turn.

 

The conversation carries on, until minutes before the end of lunch. It carries on, until they are interrupted. Anya is about to speak, a word has half escaped from her mouth, when she stops. She must see something in Lexas eyes. Or maybe it’s the smile that has suddenly formed on her face. Lexa looks away from Anya, over her shoulder and towards Clarkes friends. Clarke is walking towards them, smiling at Lexa almost nervously. Anya turns around and sees Clarke, and then glances back quickly, the most satisfied expression Lexa has ever seen on her face. Anya does love being right.

 

Clarke doesn’t sit down next to them. Nobody is that brave. Instead she stands just to the side of Anya. She smiles at Lexa, and Lexa smiles back. Anya stares at her food.

 

“Hi.” Is all she says. Clarkes voice is just as gentle as Lexa remembers, and it feels so bizarre that this is her first time hearing it in so long. She feels as if she heard it just yesterday. Clarke is clearly talking to the both of them, but she’s staring at Lexa.

 

“Hi.” Lexa says back, staring up at her. Anya says nothing. Maybe it’s nerves, or spite, or fear. All would be appropriate. Clarke picks up on it.

 

“Hi Anya.” She says again, a little sarcastically, though not meanly. Anya does a double-take, as if she’s amazed Clarke can even see her, never mind that she knows her name.

 

“Um, hey?” She says, a little confused. When Anya turns back to Lexa, her eyes are wide. She’s silently asking Lexa _What the fuck is happening?_ Clarke shakes her head and smirks a little, as if the entire thing amuses her. Then she faces lexa directly.

 

“Are you free after school?”

 

Lexa still finds herself quietly amazed that Clarke actually exists. Nobody talks to Lexa and Anya, especially not so publically, and for good reason. Lexa can already see Clarkes friends muttering at the table behind her. All except Finn.

 

“I am,” Lexa answers with a smile. Maybe Lexa imagines it, but Clarke seems relieved. Clarke and Lexa both know that if they had been told a couple of days ago that this conversation would be happening, neither of them would have believed it. “I can pick you up after school if you text me your address?” Lexa asks. Clarke then frowns.

 

“You drove here, right?” She asks. Lexa nods. “So I’ll just meet you at your car.” She smiles and shrugs as if it’s obvious. Lexa had considered it as well, but she just assumed that Clarke wouldn’t want to be seen getting into a car with her.

 

“What do you have planned?” Lexa asks, though she immediately realises that Clarke probably won’t be able to answer in front of Anya. Clarke realises this too, and glances down at her. Anya is studying her the meal in front of her like she’s going to be quizzed on it. Lexa and Clarke share a knowing smile.

 

“It’s a surprise.” Clarke says sweetly. And then, she turns and leaves, as quickly as she had arrived. Lexa watches her as she returns to her table. She seems completely unfazed by the looks she’s getting, and the bombardment of questions she seems to be getting from her friends. The only person in the group that doesn’t seem confused is Finn, who offers Lexa a weak smile when they lock eyes. Lexa returns it, as best she can, even as she sees Clarke turn to him for support.

 

So much for the status quo, then.

 

When Lexa glances back at Anya, all her nerves seem to have gone, and she’s grinning like an overly smug moron.

 

“This is going to end disastrously.”

 

Lexa shakes her head, though she pretty much agrees. For a moment, Lexa forgets about all the reasons her and Clarke will never be together, and simply admires how brave she can be.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 


	5. The right amount of sunlight casts shadows

Wells was the first one that Clarke met. He was her first friend. He was the friend who taught her what the word _friend_ really means. They were four years old, a fact that Clarke would have forgotten years ago, if not for him. She had the attention span of an excitable goldfish at that age, but Wells often found ways of reminding her of their first encounter over the years. Clarkes dad had come home from work early in the afternoon one weekend. He was tired, no doubt, but he still managed to find the strength to lift his little girl into the biggest hug she'd ever felt. He was her world, at the time. Clarke loved her dad way more than her mom, or at least she thought she did. Because children can’t appreciate the little things that moms do. They don’t know any different. Her dad was her rock, he was the one who told her she was going to rule the world some day. Whereas her mom made her meals, and brushed her hair. Both needed doing, but a child takes the important stuff for granted.

 

Clarke was so enamoured with her dad, that day, that she barely noticed the young boy who was shadowing him. Wells stood in the doorway, shifting awkwardly as if his body was an outfit that didn’t fit him right. He looked nervous, and Clarke instantly disliked him. _Who are you,_ she thought, _to come home with MY dad?_ Clarkes dad introduced him then, the son of a friend from work. _His name is Wells._ Clarke didn’t think that sounded like a real name. Clarkes dad told Clarke that they were to spend the day with each other, and that was that.

 

Wells would follow her around, quietly complacent, but with wide-eyes, as if everything Clarke did was intriguing to him. They were as unalike as two kids are capable of being. Clarke was a tornado, whipping from room to room, thing to thing, as each one grew to bore her. Wells was certainly not all that. He was a quiet child, so much so that it was a few hours later before Clarke even heard him speak. When he finally found his words, Clarke remembers thinking at the time that he spoke like a _grown up._

 

He grew on her, though, once she started to listen. He would teach her about things as if he actually knew what he was talking about. He knew as much as a four year old was capable of knowing. And still, on the weekends that came after, it was always him following her. Clarke came to realise that she quite liked having an audience. Even if it was an audience of one. She would teach him, too, about the things she believed about the world. Mostly make-believe, but Wells believed it, or pretended to.

 

After a while, they were friends. Best friends. Clarke would do things that Wells would warn her against, and she’d always end up realising he was right. She hated it when he was right. He would tell her something was about to break, right before it broke. He would tell her she was about to hurt herself, right before she hurt herself. It always felt like he was encouraging her, though. As if he appreciated the brazen way Clarke did things, and didn’t want to stop her. He knew that Clarke would wear her scraped knees and cuts and bruises like badges of honour. She liked that he seemed to admire them.

 

It was Wells that encouraged her to get into art. They were scribbles at first, that Clarke was too embarrassed to show anybody. But she showed Wells anyway, and he always said they were good. She believed him, because he spoke like a grown up.

 

She met Wells First. She met Raven and Octavia second.

 

Clarke was six, and she had just started school. Clarke was terrified of Raven and Octavia at first. Clarke had spent so much time with Wells, she’d gotten used to being the loudest person in the room. All of a sudden, she had competition. She came to find that she actually quite liked it.

 

The three of them found each other as if it was inevitable. They were just at that transitional age, where kids begin to understand the difference between boys and girls, and the three of them each found that they didn’t agree with those rules at all. It was just as it had been with Wells, all scraped knees and cuts and bruises, only now she had people telling her to climb higher, to run faster. And she did, because if she didn’t, one of the others would win, and Clarke couldn’t have that.

 

For a long time, Raven and Octavia came as a package deal. But their individualities shone through. Essentially, _Raven is smarter than you_ . Clarke learnt this quickly. It doesn’t matter who you are, it’s true. She would disagree with the teachers whenever she could, wearing a smile that made Clarke ask her dad what _smug_ meant, after she heard a teacher use it one day. What shocked Clarke even more than that, though, was how Raven corrected Wells about stuff. Wells had been Clarkes leading authority on _stuff_ for two years. She couldn’t believe it. She loved it.

 

Octavia was the strong one. They would fight, and she would win. She had an older brother, and it was as if she was determined to be more _older-brothery_ than him. She would chase the other kids as they played, and everyone learnt not to mess with her. Whenever Clarke was with Wells, he would always ask her if she was okay whenever she fell. When Clarke fell over around Octavia, she simply picked her up off the ground. It hurt less, with Octavia around.

 

It was like that for a while, just the three of them, running riot. Wells was there too, but he didn’t gel with the girls very well. They didn’t appreciate him, like Clarke did. He made friends with other kids, _boys_ , people that bored Clarke to death at the time. He still came over every weekend, though. He was still the only one that knew about Clarkes art.

 

Clarke remembers the day she introduced Raven and Octavia to her dad. She’d been so excited all day, because they were coming to Clarkes’ house after school. They’d bundled out of Clarkes moms car when they pulled into the driveway, and Clarke raced into the house, leaving her friends behind. They couldn’t understand why she was so excited, but they chased her anyway. Clarke had burst into the kitchen and found her dad ready and waiting, with open arms.

 

Clarke remembers how the girls had looked at her, then. They clearly didn’t love their dads as much as Clarke loved hers. But Clarke understood. Because they didn’t have Clarkes dad.

 

Clarke met Wells first. She met Raven and Octavia second. Third came Finn.

 

Clarke didn’t like boys. At all. She was eleven, and she couldn’t understand why Raven and Octavia suddenly wanted to hang out with Wells and his friends. Clarke had been telling them how cool Wells was for years, but they had always dismissed her. Now, they always wanted to go out after school to watch the boys doing whatever boring things they were doing.

 

There were no more scraped knees. No more adventures. Clarke missed it for a while, until she didn’t. Because she came to like it when people told her how pretty she was. People told her that a lot more than they told it to Raven and Octavia, and the types of competitions that the girls would have started to change. All of a sudden, Clarke had something she could beat her friends at, and it was something that seemed to matter. Raven was the smartest, Octavia was the strongest, and Clarke was the prettiest.

 

Clarke distinctly remembers the first time she spoke to Finn. She remembers liking him because he was pretty too. He had long hair, like her. He had long hair like a girls, who Clarke always liked to look at more than boys anyway.

 

The two of them were still too young to understand crushes. All they knew were the nervous butterflies they felt when they spoke to each other. They held hands once or twice, when no one was looking, and then snatched them apart when they thought people might see. It was just a game to them, though it was a game that Clarke rather liked. She liked the way he spoke, too. It was different to how Wells spoke, the only other boy she’d ever bothered to listen to. Finns voice was still soft, like Wells’, but it was stronger too. He was funnier. A lot funnier.

 

Clarke argued with Raven and Wells a lot around this time. She took a long time to figure out why. Clarke and Raven had started to like boys, one boy in particular. They eventually, under Octavias stern guidance, made a pact never to do anything with Finn. Not that any of them knew what _anything_ meant. It took her a lot longer to figure out why she was arguing with Wells more. He always seemed upset with her, though he would never tell her why.

 

Clarke had asked her dad about it one night, and she was really surprised at his response. He’d told her to ask her mom. She was reluctant, because she thought her mom would get angry at her, but she was surprised again when the question made her mom laugh. Her mom had sat her down and explained it to her, though it took a while. The idea of Wells _liking_ her grossed her out. She didn’t understand why her mom liked that response so much.

 

Clarke confronted Wells the next day, and in a way, the conversation played out the way their entire relationship had played out. She was wild, all words and wind and energy, and he listened. He really listened. She had gotten so used to him being annoyed with her at that time, that she was almost annoyed at him right back, when he didn’t get upset. Instead he apologised. They hugged, and just like that they were best friends again, though it was never quite the same.

 

Over the next few years, Clarkes friends and Wells’ friends started to merge. By the end, there were eight of them, and they were a nightmare. They loved it. They all played off each other brilliantly. Clarke had never been happier. The nervous energy between her and Finn never went away, and Raven never stopped looking at him in that way, but that didn’t seem to matter when they were all together. Jasper one day announced that he had a crush on Octavia, so she punched him square in the chest. He never brought that up again. Clarke rather liked Jasper and Monty, because you couldn't not. They were funny, though she never laughed at their jokes as much as she laughed at Finns, even if they were technically funnier. Clarke never really spoke to Murphy that much. In all honesty, he scared her a little when they first met. His humour was crueller than everyone else's, though the rest of the guys all seemed to like him.

 

Clarke was happy. Really, she was. She could imagine her life being like this forever. Her and the girls had made plans, naively, to get houses next door to each other and grow old together, as kids do. Though in a way, it felt to all of them as if they’d be in school for the rest of their lives, because when you're young you know nothing else. Clarke had a routine, one that she was satisfied with. She thought it would never change, because everything does seem eternal when you’re young. Life seems infinite, when you’ve never seen it end.

 

One night, when Clarke was fourteen, she hears the phone ring downstairs. She was in her room, though she can’t remember what she was doing. The details of that day have all faded from memory, pushed out by the only thing that _really_ happened. It was late, her mom had been home from work for just a few hours. Her dad wasn’t in the kitchen when she got home from school, which she thought was weird. But she thought nothing of it. Because you never do.

 

Clarke heard her mom answer the phone, and then silence. She isn’t sure if this is just a fact she’s edited into the memory after years spent thinking about it, but she seems to remember being _scared._ Five minutes pass. Then ten minutes. Then crying. So loud and hard and so _desperate,_ that Clarke was frozen to the spot. It terrified her, that noise. She stayed in her room as if whatever existed outside it couldn’t get her in there. Her mom cried for a long time, and Clarke had tried to go to sleep. She tried to forget the world. She lay in the dark, listening to her father die.

 

Clarkes dad had been in a car crash on his way home from work. They’d rushed him to the hospital, but he’d been announced dead on arrival. His body was burned up in the accident. Clarke never got to see him again. It had taken the doctors six hours to identify his body. He’d been dead for six hours without Clarke knowing. She still isn’t sure whether she’s grateful for that or not.

 

Clarke had taken a month off school. She took a month off life. Only two of her friends visited her, Wells and Finn. Finn had never even met the man, and now he never would. When Clarke eventually went back to school, for some reason she told the rest of them she’d been on vacation. She just didn’t want to talk about any of it. She didn’t let herself process it.

 

Clarke and her mother were not friends, during this time. When they weren’t crying over him, they were crying over each other. Clarke didn’t go to the funeral. She couldn’t. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she didn’t see the point. With her dad gone, everything around her started to feel numb. Her head felt constantly light, her vision constantly out of focus. Her skin felt wooly and nothing she touched seemed to feel real.

 

Instead of living, she painted. Not specifically her father, but her memories of him. Things she didn’t have photos of, but things she was terrified of forgetting. She was never satisfied with them, though. They always came out darker than she meant them too. She painted memory after memory, and each one hurt her, but it was like a therapy. It got easier. She stayed in the art department after school, almost every day for years. Still no one knew about her art but Wells. Wells, and her mom, who cherished every single painting that she brought home.

 

After a while, she started to forget the paintings. She forgot them, even though she was only painting to remember. Every day became a monotony, but it was like a ritual. Once a week, like clockwork, she brought her mom a painting. Some went on the walls at first, gradually replacing pictures of her dad that it hurt too much to look at. But eventually, they all ended up the in attic, and only one picture of her dad remained on the walls.

 

Her mom never asked about it, when one week Clarke stopped bringing home paintings. It was two years after her dad died. A year before Clarkes mom would get engaged again. It was because instead of going to the art department, Clarke had caught the bus home with Finn. He made her happy, in a way that made her feel guilty at first. She felt like she didn’t deserve to live this much, to experience as much as she was, without her dad there. But Finn made the hurt go away, and eventually, Clarke stopped seeing him because she needed to, and started seeing him because she wanted to.

 

It’s strange for Clarke to think, that in the background of all of it, there was a girl called Lexa. She would have been there, on that first day of school, when Clarke and Raven and Octavia started tearing the place up. She would have been around, somewhere, when Clarke was going through her drama with Finn and Wells. She was out there, living her life, when Clarkes fathers life had ended.

 

Clarke has few memories of the girl. But she’s starting to make new ones, and she quite likes them. She quite likes _her._ She thinks that maybe one day, she’ll even have some memories of her that she can paint, because she won’t want to forget them. Her dad would like that.

 

She’ll start by painting the first memory she has of her. When Clarke walks across the cafeteria, nervous and excited, to ask Lexa if she’s free after school. She’ll make sure to capture the way her eyes lit up, assuming she can find shade of green bright enough.

 

//

 

Over the next few hours after Clarke spoke to them, Anya manages to convince herself that Lexa doesn't just have a crush on Clarke, but is in fact madly in love with her. Whereas Lexa, over the next few hours, finds it increasingly difficult to disagree with her. Maybe it’s because every time Anya says Clarkes name, Lexa has to consciously focus on keeping her smile down, and Anya knows her well enough to notice.

 

Lexa and Clarke text each other for the rest of the day, too, much to Anyas interest and dismay. At first Lexa was nervous about texting her in class, but she quickly finds out that most of her teachers like her enough to let her get away with it, as long as she isn’t blatant about it. She guesses that most of them assume she’s going through some sort of crisis at home, because that’s the only thing they can think of that would cause Lexa to act out. Lexa for the first time starts to actually quite like her reputation. It offers her a certain degree of immunity, or amnesty. Something she’s never really taken advantage of until now. Her teachers would never assume that she would be so frivolous or so _human_ as to text her crush in class. No, god forbid. Not _Lexa._

 

Clarke refuses to tell Lexa what she has planned after school, and Lexa isn’t sure who’s more interested in finding out, her or Anya. At every opportunity, Anya tries to trick Lexa into revealing something, but Lexa gives nothing away. Throughout the day there are constant moments where Lexa considers telling Anya the truth, about Clarke being her sister. But every time she goes to, Anya says something about Lexa being _in love_ with her, and the truth becomes impossible. The situation has become messier than Lexa could ever have planned for, and in such a short time.

 

Lexas heart aches quietly against her ribs, every time Anya implies that her and Clarke must be, or soon will be, a couple. Because she so desperately wants it to be true, but she knows it never will be. But as terrible as Lexa might be at hiding her affection for Clarke, she’s damn good at hiding the pain she causes. Anya doesn’t suspect a thing about how conflicted Lexa is. Lexa manages to keep the conversation light. At one point Anya grabs Lexas phone with a wicked grin, and scrolls quickly through their texts. Too fast to read anything, but fast enough to see just how many there are. Anya concedes and hands the phone back a second later with wide-eyed disbelief. Lexa, despite her annoyance, feels a little bit of pride. Anya is rapidly becoming convinced that Clarke likes her back, and though Lexa knows it isn’t true, she likes hearing it said. It gives her hope, for something she knows she shouldn’t be hoping for.

 

“Does this mean I have to catch the bus home?” Anya asks hurriedly as they approach Lexas car at the end of the day. It’s actually the first time during the day that Anya doesn’t sound 100% annoyed. In fact, she drops it down to about 98%, to allow room for some genuine sincerity. Her question means _Should I leave the two of you alone together?_ There’s humour in her voice, slightly mocking, but Lexa knows she means well. Both possible answers rush through Lexas mind, battling for the right to be spoken.

 

 _Yes_ , Lexa thinks boldly, because the thought of being alone in a car with Clarke is making her a little tipsy. _No_ , she thinks immediately after that, almost for the exact same reason, just with a little guilt thrown in.

 

“Only if you want to.” Lexa says instead, with a sweet smile. They pause when they reach the car. Neither get in. The parking lot is full of people, and Anya and Lexa seem to be taking turns scanning the crowd for a head of blonde hair.

 

“The bus _is_ probably the safer option,” Anya mutters, more to herself than to Lexa. “Plus, knowing Clarke, she’ll probably make me take the back seat.” Lexa laughs lightly, as if it’s ridiculous. Anya smirks, more at Lexas reaction than at the words themselves.

 

“I’m not so sure,” Lexa says, also more to herself than to Anya. The two of them move around to the front of the car to lean gently on the hood. Crowds of people still walk by, no sign of Clarke. “Besides, would sitting in the back really be so terrible?”

 

Lexa doesn’t hear a response from Anya, and so looks down at her, sat next to her on the hood. Her face is incredulous. Her jaw has dropped so far it’s almost resting on the floor.

 

“I can not believe you just asked me that,” She says, acting mockingly offended. “I’ve called eternal shotgun, we agreed when you passed your test, remember? No way am I giving that up for some blondie you have a crush on.”

 

The word blonde triggers something in Lexas chest, a warm wash of emotion. Any vague mention of Clarke seems to do that, now. It’s as if all of a sudden she’s smiling in front of her.

 

“So catch the bus,” Lexas says with a smirk, half-lost in a daydream of her and Clarke holding hands across the gap between the seats. “It is the _safer option,_ after all.” Anya scoffs and looks away, back towards the herd of students mulling by. She’s back up to 100% annoyed. It was a nice break while it lasted.

 

Her smile is still there, though. Anya does love to battle.

 

“Lexa, unless you’ve been keeping this secret for a lot longer than I think you have, that back seat has never been used. I don’t intend to be the first to do so.” Lexa shakes her head. That had pretty much been the tone of the conversation ever since lunch. Various degrees of _You love Clarke and I disagree with it._

 

“For the last time Anya, me and Clarke only started speaking yesterday. There’s no conspiracy.” Anya then turns and studies Lexas face. Her favourite pastime, lately. As if Lexa has ever really given anything away.

 

“There’s always a conspiracy,” She says, matter of fact. “And especially now. I swear, I’ve never seen you look so gay.”

 

Lexa starts to feel herself blushing. She curses herself for it, but she can’t stop.

 

“That’s because I _am._ By definition, I always look gay. That doesn’t mean I’m interested in Clarke just because she’s attractive and willing to talk to me.” Anya looks up at Lexa, with an exasperated sigh. Lexa has to look away. It was, in fairness, the least convincing sentence Lexa has ever said. “Shut up.” Lexa says quickly when she sees Anya opening her mouth to speak.

 

“You’re making this too easy for me, Lex. I hope you don’t make it this easy for her.”

 

Lexa struggles for words for a few moments, which Anya seems to find hilarious. When Anya’s smug laughter quiets down, Lexa is glaring at her.

 

“You’re definitely taking the bus.” Lexa says firmly. Anyas jaw drops again.

 

“You’re kicking me out?”

 

“Yes.” Lexa says smugly. Anya then smiles, almost in admiration. Anya is the only person in the world Lexa has known to find satisfaction in losing an argument. She’s smiling more than Lexa is.

 

“I sincerely hope she’s worth it,” Anya says quickly, with her head held high. She begins to move away from the hood of the car. She moves a few paces away before she turns to face Lexa again, her backpack thrown casually over one shoulder. “Exactly how long is this ‘project’ you’re working on going to take to finish?”

 

The sun is shining brightly behind Anya, making Lexa squint to see her. It reminds her of Clarke. Everything does, lately. Maybe that’s what gives Lexa the confidence to say something honest. For once.

 

“There is no project, Anya.” Lexa says smoothly, as if it’s obvious. She feels a slight rush, maybe it’s nerves, or just the thrill of dancing with the truth without actually telling all of it. She can’t quite make out Anyas face against the light, but she hears the way she laughs.

 

“ _Duh_ . You know what I mean. When will this, whatever _this_ is, end? Or become official?”

 

Lexa has to look away. She doesn’t know how to answer. In a way, the answer is never, because her and Clarke could never possibly be together. Not only is Clarke in a relationship already, a painfully heterosexual one at that, but they’re soon to be sisters. So never. But in the same way, the answer is _always._ It will always be like this. Because Lexa imagines that she will be stuck feeling this way about Clarke forever. Even if she was capable of it, Clarke would never like Lexa back. Because if Clarke did like girls, Lexa knows that she’d be the last one Clarke would go for.

 

“I don’t know.” Lexa says slowly, still not looking at Anya. She’s staring through the crowd, looking for Clarke. Lexa is just waiting to see her, the cause of every significant thing she’s ever felt, good and bad. Anya doesn’t answer, maybe sensing some of what Lexa is going through. When Lexa looks up, the sun has dipped slightly, behind a cloud. Anya looks concerned, but still she has that smile. It’s weaker than before, but Lexa finds it reassuring.

 

“You are so fucked, Lex.” Anya says quickly, letting out a laugh that’s basically just a quick breath.

 

“You don’t know the half of it.” Lexa says plainly, offering the strongest smile she can muster, which isn’t much. After a few beats, Lexas phone sounds. She’s smiling again as soon as she see Clarkes name.

 

 **Clarke** : ok, i really can’t find your car

 

“Is that your girlfriend?” Anya asks, smug again. “Did the cute blonde girl get lost?” Lexa feels a reluctant smile pulling at the corners of her lips, and she feels like throwing her phone at Anya. But there’s sadness in the longing she feels, too. Apparently, all of this is evident on Lexas face, which makes Anya leap at the opportunity to make a joke. “Just don’t follow her down any dark alleys and you’ll be fine.” She quips right as she turns to leave, denying Lexa the chance to claim the last word.

 

When Anya is out of sight, Lexa looks back at her phone.

 

 **Clarke** : you’d better not have forgotten me x

 **Lexa**   : never x

 

It’s a few minutes later when Lexa finally spots Clarke. She appears in the corner of Lexas vision, just a blonde head bobbing over cars a few rows away. Clarke seems to notice Lexa at the same time. They smile at each other through what remains of the crowd, and Lexa feels her heart skip. What unfolds next is exactly like the cafeteria, all over again. Clarke is such a bright spot in Lexas vision, that it takes a moment for her to fill in the details of the world around her. Finn is there, again, holding Clarkes hand as they part through the cars. Lexa supposes he’ll always be there.

 

Clarke pulls him along behind slightly as they walk, she’s clearly in charge of where they go. It’s a slow stroll, like they don’t want to leave each other. Lexa can’t hear what’s being said, but Clarke seems to smile at every word out of his mouth. Lexa finds that as much as it hurts her, she can’t bring herself to hate Finn for it. Anyone who makes Clarke that happy must have some goodness in them.

 

Clarke waves at Lexa as she approaches, and Lexa offers her one back. Lexa can’t tell if Clarkes smile is because of her, or Finn. Though Lexa might not be holding Clarkes hand, Lexa feels like the wave is enough to make her happy, and she feels herself blushing a little at the smile that comes along with it. Clarke stops walking amongst the nearest row of cars, when they’re about to cross the road to meet Lexa. She turns and puts a hand on Finns chest to stop him, too. Lexa has to look away when they kiss.

 

Her heart aches. She almost wants to watch, just to see how Clarkes lips look when she’s kissing someone. Something she’s imagined for years. But she can’t. It hurts too much, as if the world is testing her strength. Lexa isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to settle the conflict she feels inside herself, over Clarke.

 

It’s not until Lexa glances back and she sees Finn walking away, that she notices the crowd behind the next row of cars. Clarkes friends. It’s a smaller group than she’s used to seeing, normally they travel in a pack bigger than this. It’s just the boys, it seems. Raven and Octavia are nowhere to be seen. They’re staring at her, Lexa realises.

 

That all disappears though, when Lexa hears Clarke speak to her. Her voice is so light, it seems to carry Lexa away from the dark depths of her hurt. Clarkes blue eyes are piercing, as she approaches. Lexa feels herself gasp a little, though not loud enough to hear. Clarke literally takes her breath away.

 

“I should have known you’d park by the teachers spots.” Clarke says with a smile, sounding amused. She comes to stand about a foot away from Lexa, who feels herself being pulled towards her like a magnet.

 

“What are you trying to say?” Lexa asks coyly. Clarke is smiling even before Lexa has finished speaking.

 

“That you’re a dork.” She says gently. She makes the words sound surprisingly sweet, and to Lexa, they feel closer to a compliment than anything else. Lexa tries her best to remember not to blush around her, but it’s difficult.

 

Lexa moves to get into the car, and Clarke follows. Lexa takes a quiet moment to herself, to appreciate that this is actually happening. There are still one or two students mulling about, and based on how they turn to look, this seems as weird to them as it feels to Lexa. When Clarke and Lexa are both in the car, there are a few seconds of silence. A few too many beats pass without either of them saying anything. Lexa can’t think of what to say. They both know how unusual this situation is, and it doesn’t need to be said. They’d never in a million years have guessed they’d find themselves doing this.

 

“Hi.” Clarke eventually says to break the silence. It’s a little sarcastic, and it’s perfect. It’s disarming, in a very charming way, and Lexa feels herself relax immediately.

 

“Hi.” She says back shyly. She _again_ reminds herself not to blush.

 

“Can we both agree that this is weird?” Clarke asks quickly. Lexa chuckles at the sudden honesty of it, which causes Clarke to do the same. “You know, just to get it out there?” She adds with a smirk. Lexa finds herself smiling.

 

“Yes. Agreed.” Lexa says, feeling oddly relieved to hear the words. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Clarke leans back in her seat, as if she’s relaxing for the first time.

 

“I mean, we both know what this is about,” Clarke explains. “but I still feel nervous to say it.”

 

“In case somehow you’re wrong. As if somehow you’ve made it up.” Lexa continues for her. Clarke seems to smile as she realises Lexa feels the same way she does.

 

Another silence falls between them, but this time they’re looking at each other, instead of outside. Neither feels uncomfortable. Lexa feels herself starting to lose herself in Clarkes eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by how close she is to them.

 

 _I love you._ Lexa says, without saying it.

 

“We’re going to be sisters.” Lexa says, none of her pain coming through. In a way, Lexa feels that she should be grateful this is even happening. Being close to Clarke is something she imagined she would never be able to do, so she’s glad she’s getting to do it now, even if it’s not in the way she wants. Clarke smiles, and then sighs, as if she’s relieved to hear the words spoken out loud by someone that isn’t her.

 

“So it’s official then,” Clarke says, with a small chuckle. “I’m not going crazy. This is happening.”

 

“It is.” Lexa says gently. Clarke holds her gaze for a second, as if it doesn’t electrify her the same way it does Lexa, and Lexa has to look away. She can feel her heart pounding almost comically hard in her chest. Despite the ridiculousness of it, Lexa is nervous that it’s beating so loud Clarke might actually be able to hear it. Clarke pulls her bag from her back, and puts it on the seat behind her. It’s seems it’s at that moment, that Clarke notices something.

 

“No Anya?” She asks as she turns back to Lexa. Her voice is weaker, all of sudden. She sounds concerned and apologetic at the same time. Lexa only shakes her head. She has no real idea how to talk about Anya to Clarke at the moment. It’s too messy. “She hates me that much?” Clarke asks, sounding a little more amused this time, though it sounds like she’s only trying to deflect how hurt she is.

 

“That’s not what it is,” Lexa says quickly. There’s a pause, between breaths, and Lexa can see that Clarke doesn’t believe her. “She doesn’t hate you, Clarke. No one does.” Clarke then quickly turns to look at Lexa.

 

“Don’t you?”

 

It’s such a genuine question, but completely ridiculous. Lexa actually laughs at how far off the mark it is. Her heart melts a little, too, when she sees the way Clarke reacts. Just the tiniest smile, relief. Gratitude, in a way.

 

“Why on earth would I hate you?” Lexa asks, making both of them smile. Clarke goes to answer. “You don’t have to answer that, Clarke. I don’t hate you.” Clarke holds still for a second, before settling back into her seat. Lexa loves the way Clarke looks. Lexa loves _her_. Lexa has to force herself to pull her eyes away from Clarke. She looks out into the world, and her peacefulness is shattered, when she sees Clarkes friends. They’re still watching her. Clarke has seen them too. “Like I said,” Lexa adds, a little mournfully. “you’re one of the good ones.”

 

Clarke sighs before she answers. Lexa remembers that Clarke must have been dealing with them ever since they spoke in the cafeteria.

 

“Your friend disappears, and my friends turn up to watch.” Clarke says forlornly. “And that’s before they know the truth.” Lexa turns to look at the group again. Finn and Wells are there, though they seem mostly disinterested. Jasper and Monty are the only ones who seem to be having fun with the situation, though at least it doesn’t seem menacing. Murphy, though, Lexa is struggling to even look at. She still has no idea why he hates her so much.

 

“Well, you said it yourself. This is strange.”

 

When Clarke turns to Lexa, her expression is impossible to read.

 

“Is it, though?”

 

It’s such an open ended question. Lexa has no idea what to say. She is suddenly struck again by who it is she’s talking to. Her close proximity to Clarke is suddenly making her skin tingle, and her heart beat faster. She wonders if she’ll feel this way around Clarke forever. She wonders if Clarke will ever stop amazing her. Only a few seconds pass before Lexa answers, but to her, time seems to stop. She realises how lucky she is to just be able to sit this close to her, and take in the tiny details of her face that she’s never been able to notice before. The way her eyes glow against the paleness of her skin, which in the sunlight seems golden in itself, tinted by her hair. The dark of her lashes, as she blinks, slow enough for Lexa to appreciate it. The sweetness of her smile, so powerful, as small as it is. She can even hear the tiniest of breaths escaping her, yet they feel strong enough to blow her away.

 

The strangest thing, is that it doesn’t feel strange.

 

“No.” Lexa answers. She’s smiling a lot wider than she realised, and normally she would try and make herself stop, but she feels she doesn’t have to when Clarke matches her.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Home is not a place

 

Clarke isn’t quite sure what to make of Lexa. All she really knows for sure, is that everything she thought she knew about her a few days ago, is completely wrong. It’s as if Clarke is seeing her for the first time. The real her. Not the persona she seems to put on for everybody else around school, or the fog of rumours that has up until now clouded who she really is.

 

Clarke can’t deny the way she feels her lips curling up into a smile every time Lexa speaks. There’s a certain eloquence to Lexas’ voice, a particular depth that Clarke finds herself enamoured with. It’s as if Lexa has had a lifetime to consider the weight of every word, and the poetry of every sentence. Lexa is a mystery, a complete unknown, and every tiny bit of information Clarke gets just makes her curious for more, because it’s not at all what she was anticipating.

 

Now that Clarke is alone with her, she can see that there’s something regal about the way Lexa carries herself. Long gone is the girl that Clarke half-remembers seeing walking through the halls over the years. The actions that Clarke used to read as obnoxiousness, she’s now starting see as simple complacency. Lexa emits a certain aura of inner peace, contentedness. One that Clarke finds relaxing, in a way. Clarke sees that each of Lexas’ actions are controlled, but delicate, with an implied strength. Clarke intuits all of this without really knowing why. She gets it from tiny little motions that seem bigger than they are, like the strength in her posture, the firmness of her hands on the steering wheel, or the gentle way she scratches her arm. It all registers in Clarkes mind without her really noticing.

 

Clarke doesn’t actually know much about Lexa. But she feels like she does, in a way. Or perhaps she simply feels she should.

 

They drive in silence mostly, but for the first time in Clarkes life, the silence doesn’t bother her. She doesn’t feel pressured by Lexa, in the same way that she does with her friends. She doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with sound. Clarke watches the people on the sidewalk as they drive past them, as if the people she’s staring at can’t actually see her back. It’s a forty minute drive to where Clarke is taking them, and they’ve been on the road for nearly thirty. Yet in some way that Clarke can’t quite figure out, the drive feels timeless. It’s as if they aren’t really moving, but instead are simply floating above the ground as the world rotates beneath them.

 

When Clarke hears Lexa speak again, after an indefinite amount of silence, Clarke pulls her eyes away from the world to see Lexa smiling at her.

 

“I think I’ve figured out where it is you’re taking me.” Lexa says sweetly. Clarke slowly pulls herself higher in her seat, as if she was close to falling asleep, even though she’s the most awake she’s felt in a long time. She can’t help but smile back at Lexa as she answers.

 

“What gave it away?”  

 

Lexa glances back to the road, as they pull away from a set of traffic lights. Her eyes are flickering as if she’s remembering something; another thing that Clarke notices about her without _noticing_.

 

“I was fairly certain I knew when all you gave me to go on was an address,” Lexa explains. There’s a brief pause, where the only sound is the engine lightly humming. “But I wasn’t completely sure, so I didn’t say anything.”

 

“But you’re sure now?” Clarke asks. Lexa nods before she answers.

 

“Marcus used to bring me to this town when I was little,” Lexa says, smiling to herself. “So I know he likes it,” She’s talking slowly, and if it were anyone else Clarke would feel the need to rush her. But there’s something commanding in Lexas’ voice, something somehow quiet, yet alluring, that demands to be heard. “There’s a park somewhere down one of these streets that he used to take me to.”

 

“So you know the town?”

 

Lexa chuckles to herself, little more than a breath.

 

“Barely. I was young. But even if I could remember, I don’t think I was actually tall enough to see out of the windows of the car at the time,” Clarke laughs quietly, and returns her gaze to the window. She likes the idea of a tiny Lexa. In her head, she would have been just as well-spoken and composed as she is now. “Have you been here before?” Lexa asks her, pulling Clarkes attention back.

 

“Only an hour ago, on google maps,” Clarke jokes. “So technically, I’ve already seen where we’re going.” Lexa scoffs a little, and it makes Clarke smirk.

 

“So you’ve ruined the surprise.”

 

“I only saw it from the top down.” Clarke says in her defense. “I’ve ruined the _roof_ of the surprise.” Clarke feels her eyes hold on Lexa like a magnet for a moment, before she turns her attention back to the road. Clarke sees Lexa shake her head slightly in the corner of her vision, and she can feel the girl smiling without needing to look to check.

 

That’s what the ride had been like, ever since they’d pulled out of the school parking lot. Clarke is finding Lexa to be rather easy to play off. Their strangely contrasting personalities seem to mix well together, somehow, which is a huge relief. Clarke was still more than a little worried that her previous assessments of Lexa were true, but the more she talks to her, Clarke is starting to realise that her worries were misplaced. It’s like when Clarke first met Wells, years ago. She can feel Lexa admiring the way Clarke does things; a little more brazen than most.

 

“So I’m right about where we’re going?” Lexa asks after a second. “We’re seeing the house?”

 

“Our new house.” Clarke confirms sweetly. It feels odd to say, but in another way, it doesn’t. Clarke thinks only briefly of the home she’ll be leaving behind. Barely a flash of an image in her mind before she pushes the feeling away, and covers it over with stronger, more positive feelings.

 

Maybe Clarke imagines it, but Lexa seems to have a similar moment. Maybe it’s not quite the same, but Clarke certainly sees something close to hesitation in the corner of Lexas’ smile. The smile doesn’t fade, however, and any hint of uncertainty is gone before Clarke can ponder what might have caused it.

 

“What did the roof look like?” Lexa jokes after a few seconds, in that dry way that she does, that Clarke has rapidly gotten used to.

 

“Boring,” Clarke groans, with an eye-roll. “Brown.” Lexa laughs.

 

“What’s wrong with boring and brown?” She asks with a smile and a raised eyebrow, actually sounding a little offended. Lexa then takes her eyes off the road again, and looks towards Clarke.

 

Lexas eyes catch Clarke off guard, and she doesn’t answer for a second. They’re a luminous green, staring so sweetly, as if Lexa doesn't know how intense they are. Like a leaf catching the sunlight. But then the light shifts, and they dull, becoming calming and tranquil, like pine blanketed by moss. Lexa’s hair spirals in one long strand down the shoulder closest to Clarke, shimmering as if to draw Clarkes attention. It has the strength of oak, and yet seems as soft as running water. Lexa looks like a scene out of a forest. One that Clarke can imagine herself painting.

 

It all passes in a heartbeat. Not even that, really.

 

“Nothing, I suppose.” Clarke says, a little sarcastically, barely skipping a beat. It all passes through Clarkes mind, whispering it’s way in, without her knowing. Clarke is an artist, after all. She notices these things.

 

Lexa chuckles at Clarkes answer, but doesn’t say anything in return. After a few moments, when the remnants of their smiles slip away and Clarke turns her gaze back to the world, she doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with sound.

 

Some small part of Clarke still wishes to remain distant from the girl in the drivers seat. She’s still nervous about what her new life will be like, once the news of their parents engagement becomes public. If her friends reaction earlier in the day is anything to go on, it’s going to be one hell of a bumpy ride, and that’s just how they reacted based on Clarke talking to Lexa for thirty seconds. They didn’t react _badly_ exactly, in fact they thought the whole thing was hilarious, and Clarke had been able to make a joke out of it. But the jokes that were made were at Lexas expense. Something Clarkes friends have been doing for a long time, and she’s only now starting to feel guilty about.

 

But there’s something calming about Lexas reaction to the whole situation, that’s making those paranoid whispers at the back of Clarkes mind seem ever quieter. The drive with Lexa had no doubt been the most peaceful part of her day. As strange as it is, being with Lexa is actually surprisingly comforting, and Clarke thinks that perhaps it’s simply because of who Lexa is. When Clarke had found out about their parents engagement, she’d freaked out. Mainly because of the guilt she felt over her dad, a feeling she’s now trying to push down, but also in no small part because of Lexa. But Clarke is quickly realising, that maybe Lexa is the only person Clarke can talk to about any of it. Lexa feels like the only person who’ll come close to understanding. She might be the only person who won’t judge her for the situation, or her reaction to it. She appreciates that, though she doesn’t feel like she knows Lexa nearly well enough to be able to express it.

 

Lexa drives them through to the center of town and out the other side. The forty minute trip ends up taking close to an hour, but Clarke barely notices. Lexa follows Clarkes vague directions as best she can, though in all honesty Clarke feels like she’s making most of them up as she goes along just to seem like she knows what she’s doing. After a while though, Clarke starts seeing street names that she recognises, some of the few she can remember that were nearby the house.

 

Clarke is eagle-eyed, looking for their street. When she spots the sign for it she knows Lexa has seen it too, because the car starts to slow, as if the vehicle itself is nervous. They pull onto the street without saying a word, but Clarke knows that both her and Lexa feel the same way. Nervous, with a whisper of excitement that is difficult to place. They drive down the street, checking each house and ticking off each number, getting closer to the one that will be theirs.

 

Lexa pulls over across the road from the house when they find it. The background hum of the engine cuts out, and as Clarke steps out of the car, the weight of the silence hits her. She steps out into a strange neighbourhood. A neighbourhood she barely knows, with a person she barely knows. She thinks to herself that she probably shouldn’t feel as comfortable as she does. But she feels completely calm. At peace. Happy, almost. As if she’s somehow far away from everything bad about her life, and about herself. This place feels like nowhere. An escape. The pressures of her life, her friends, her mistakes, all feel a long way away from where she is now.

 

There’s a slight breeze as Clarke steps out of the car, the rustling of leaves being the only sound to be heard. As she walks around to the drivers side of the car where Lexa is waiting, Clarke finds that Lexa is looking at her, not the house. Lexa looks away as soon as Clarke notices, though, and Clarke thinks nothing of it.

 

The house is far more suburban than anything Clarke ever thought her mother would go for. It’s a little too _American Dream_ for her taste, but Clarke can see that there is something quite homely about it. It’s one white picket fence away from picturesque perfection. She thinks back to what her mom had said about the place, and she finds that it’s very easy to imagine a nice family living here. Lexa and Clarke lean against the car for a while, taking it in. It’s rather quaint, just like the neighbourhood it’s in, as if nothing bad could ever happen inside it. Pristine white wooden slats line the walls like a security blanket, with brown trimmings layering the angular edges offered by the pointed roof. The whole scene is framed by a carpet of green, by a garden perfectly angular and trimmed, clearly meant to be looked at and not used. It’s a nice splash of colour, though, with occasional reds and blues of flowers perfectly placed, all of it accompanied by the radiant blue sky above the roof that has never looked more appropriate. The path along the grass is little more than a few cobblestones, worn smooth by years of feet, spaced just far enough apart for a child to have fun spending hours jumping across. The only break of colour the house has the garage door, painted a matte black, matching the darkness Clarke can see through the perfectly rectangular windows, as if she isn’t meant to see inside.

 

It looks very much the same as every other house on the street, bar a few details here and there, no doubt added by the previous owners to give it some uniqueness. It looks the same, but it _feels_ different. But then, Clarke supposes, that’s because it is. It’s different. Because this is the only house on the street that matters.

 

Lexa speaks after a while. Her voice is soft enough so as to barely disturb the silence.

 

“I’m not quite sure what I was anticipating,” She admits, with a hint of a laugh. Clarke finds herself chuckling too, suddenly at ease. “I’m not sure what I thought would happen.”

 

“It’s just a house.” Clarke says plainly, with an amused frown, and she hears Lexa chuckle beside her in agreement. “It’s a lot smaller than mine.” Clarke mutters, mostly to herself. She feels Lexa looking down at her.

 

“It’s a lot bigger than mine.”

 

Lexas tone is impossible to read, and so Clarke doesn’t know how to respond. The two of them continue to stare silently for a while, as if they’re waiting for the house to do something interesting to make their trip worth it. Clarke then notices something about the house, perhaps its only imperfection; a small dent in the grass, by the sidewalk, as if someone has kicked up a bit of mud. It must be from where the ‘for-sale’ sign had been, stuck into the ground and only recently removed.

 

Maybe that’s what makes Clarke think of the family that lived here before, or as far as Clarke knows, still lives here now. Clarke and Lexa won’t be moving in for another few days, so it’s possible the _nice family_ might still be here. If they are though, there’s no sign of them. The house looks perfectly still. There’s no movement on the inside, and the driveway has no cars in it.

 

“It looks empty,” Clarke says after a moment, unsure how she feels about that fact. She feels Lexa glancing at her, and Clarke meets her gaze. She’s frowning a little, and Clarke explains. “My mom said there was a family here. When her and your dad came to look at it, I mean.”

 

“Yes. I suppose there would have been,” Lexa ponders, as if she’s realising this for the first time. “Does that matter?”

 

Clarke frowns for a moment, and then finds herself smirking, as if she’s realising again that her nerves and her worries are misplaced. She’s starting to notice that Lexa always seems in control of her emotions.

 

When Clarke speaks, there’s humour in her voice, perhaps caused by the strangeness of the entire situation.

 

“It matters if we’re sitting here staring at some strangers house.” She jokes. Clarke turns her gaze back to the house, and finds herself being drawn towards it, for some reason. Maybe that’s a good thing, since she’s going to be living there soon. Clarke acknowledges to herself that it doesn’t feel like _her_ house yet, but she supposes that’s normal.

 

She also finds her mind wandering to Lexa, who doesn’t feel like her sister yet. But Clarke feels that there’s potential in both, however strange that is for her to admit to herself, given how she felt just a few days ago.

 

Clarke pushes herself away from the car, with a surprising lightness in her steps.

 

“Come on.” She chimes over her shoulder to Lexa, as she starts across the road towards the house. She can almost hear the surprise in Lexas delayed footsteps following after her. She glances back only briefly to see Lexas reaction. She’s following, albeit with a slightly apprehensive look on her face.

 

“Clarke?” She asks, the confusion evident in her voice. “What are you doing?”

 

“Investigating.” Clarke beams, a little proudly. She turns back to Lexa again, and is relieved to see a reluctant smirk appearing on her face. Clarke feels her footsteps quicken as she reaches the cobbled pathway along the garden.

 

“We can’t just knock,” Lexa protests, though unconvincingly, “What if there’s someone in? What’s the plan?”

 

“The truth?” She suggests. She hears Lexa laugh behind her. “What’s the worst that could happen? _Hey, you don’t know us, and we barely know each other either, but can we look around your house please?_ ”

 

“Foolproof.” Lexa grumbles sarcastically. Clarke arrives at the door and knocks. She can almost feel Lexa holding her breath, and as the seconds tick by, Clarke starts to think about where she is, what she’s doing, and who she’s doing it with. It’s crazy, there’s no doubt. In a way though, this little adventure is the most at ease Clarke has felt in a while.

 

No one answers the door, and Clarke hears Lexa sigh in relief after a while. Lexa groans in mock frustration though, when Clarke knocks again with a smug grin. Another minute passes. There’s still no answer.

 

“I told you it looked empty.” Clarke reminds Lexa slyly. Lexa is standing a few paces away from the door, with her back straight and her arms laced behind her back. She seems content to just let Clarke do her thing, as Clarke moves and presses her eyes against the glass of one of the windows. There’s almost no light inside the house, but it’s just bright enough for Clarke to see that there’s no furniture, either.

 

“What do you see?” Lexa asks from behind her.

 

“Nothing. It looks empty, I don’t think there’s anyone here anymore.”

 

Clarke can only see the kitchen from this window, with the entryway just visible to the side. It allows Clarke to see just enough of the hallway to pique her interest, but not enough to satisfy her.

 

“You understand you’ll be living here soon?” Lexa asks from behind her, and Clarke can hear the humour in her voice without looking. “You don’t need to see all of it now.”

 

Clarke turns quickly back to Lexa, her posture firm, and her grin wide. She comes close to stamping her foot. Lexa is looking at her in the exact way Wells used to. Quiet admiration, voiced only through sarcastic scolding. Despite Lexas words, she’s making no move to stop Clarke, and actually seems a little entertained. She thinks for a moment that Lexa could maybe be her friend, in the same way Wells is.

 

“Yes I do.” Clarke beams. Lexa, a girl Clarke somehow hated a few days ago, smiles back at her. Though, as Clarke was half expecting, Lexa couples hers with an eye-roll.

 

//

 

Lexas opinion of Clarke has shifted a lot over the years. It’s been fraught with turmoil and fantasy and inner conflict. Hopeless optimism wrapped in a blanket of warming daydreams, shielding Lexas mind from the cold of reality. There were times when Lexa was convinced, perhaps naively, that her and Clarke were soulmates, back when she was young enough to believe in such things. Because the emotions that Clarke summoned inside of Lexas chest, felt nothing short of inevitable.

 

But those feelings had faded, and she’d allowed herself to move on. Lexa started to see Clarke as something that was detracting from her life, rather than adding to it. Clarke was, in far too many ways, like the sun. Clarke was the sustenance that Lexa once felt she so desperately needed. Clarke was the thing that lifted her from her sleep each morning. Clarke would burn her, if she ever tried to get too close.

 

But now, Lexa can feel that kindling again, the slow beginnings of that flame, gently warming her chest. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to burn her. Even if it does, though, Lexa feels like she won’t mind. Even if it does, it certainly won’t be boring.

 

“Clarke, I’m fairly certain this is illegal.”

 

Lexa tries her best to maintain her composure, but that becomes impossible when Clarke turns to face her. She flicks her hair over her shoulder and smiles so innocently, as if she doesn’t know how breathtaking she is. Lexa uses all of her strength to maintain her frown, though she feels her lips curling up into a smirk. Clarke narrows her eyes, inquisitively.

 

“Only _fairly_ certain?” She asks. She pauses, pretending to consider the words, before she shrugs and offers up a devilish smile. “Sounds worth the risk to me.”

 

Clarke had somehow managed to lure Lexa into the back garden, where she had spent the last five minutes watching Clarke trying to pry open a window from the outside. Lexa watched on, highly amused, though not admitting to it. Lexa makes no move to help, though she makes no move to stop her, either. Each time Clarke strains- and then fails -to open a window, she goes back at it again a second later with a smile and a determination that’s even fiercer than before. Lexa admires her spirit. Each of Lexas comments seems to push Clarke forward as well, be they positive or negative.

 

“What’s your plan if you’re wrong about the house being empty?” Lexa inquires of Clarke, though she’s fairly certain she can guess what the answer will be. Clarke releases her grip on the window, and turns to face Lexa with a mischievous grin.

 

“Do I look like a girl with a plan?”

 

Clarke turns back to the window, and Lexa carries on watching, both a little more impressed and a little more nervous than before.

 

Lexa has heard stories about Clarke. _Everyone_ has heard stories about Clarke. Tales that have been spread around by her friends, shouted out proudly to anyone who’ll listen, as if she’s the hero of them. Stories of grand adventures so bold and hilarious, that they managed to reach even to Lexa and Anya. They’re stories about who she is. They’re stories about the things she’s done. Stories about the triumphs of youth.

 

Lexa was once so enraptured with these stories, that she would try and remember them all. She most often overheard them in the hallways on Monday mornings, from people with obvious hangovers. She would listen in, as best she could, because she cared. There was the time she heard about Clarke getting into a fight with a guy twice her size, because he was coming on to one of her friends too strong. There was the time she and her friends supposedly broke into a warehouse, climbed up to the roof and watched the sun rise. They are stories of the life she’s lived, while Lexa was somewhere else, writing her own stories of her own, albeit a little quieter.

 

Most of the stories are positive, which means they probably aren’t exactly true. But then there’s the story Lexa _knows_ to be true. Because she’s a part of it. She imagines that the story of how she and Clarke broke into a house won’t be told as often as the others, but she’s okay with that. She’s happy to just be able to see Clarke as a real person. She’s just happy that Clarke now sees her as one.

 

Clarke moves to the next window, and when it doesn’t slide open easily, she rolls up her sleeves like she’s getting ready for a fight. Lexa can’t help but stare. It’s not _exactly_ the kind of thing she’d always fantasised about doing with Clarke, but she can’t deny that she’s enjoying the nervous energy tingling through her skin.

 

Lexa is wondering if she should mention that she already knows how to get into the house.  

 

Somehow, during her struggles against the glass, Clarke had kicked over one of the stones lining the path through the garden. Only Lexa noticed what lies beneath it. She doesn’t mention it, hoping Clarke won’t see. It lays half buried in a tuft of flattened pale green grass, shimmering bronze in the sunlight. A key.

 

Lexa had frowned at it for only a second, before realising its significance and washing any recognition of it from her face. Assuming the house is theirs, then it wouldn’t _technically_ be illegal to go inside. Normally she’d never consider mentioning it, but she is now. Because she knows it would be a way for her to impress Clarke, in some small way.

 

Clarke notices the key only when Lexa gives it away. Lexa stands a few paces away from Clarke, watching her work at the windows, and even from that distance Lexa is stunned by the blue of her eyes. Clarke turns and flutters her eyes at one of Lexas more sarcastic comments, and it moves Lexa so much that she has to look away. By coincidence, her eyes fall to the one place she doesn’t want Clarke to look. Clarkes eyes follow.

 

Lexa glances back to see Clarkes eyes widen as she spots the key. Lexa, despite the trouble she knows she's about to get herself into, can’t help but enjoy the excitement on Clarkes face. She only has one thought going through her mind, as she sees the pure mischief Clarke is about to perform become evident in those eyes of hers.

 

_I’m so glad Anya isn’t here to see this._

 

Clarke slots the key into the door with the look of a child unwrapping a Christmas present. She pushes the door timidly, as if she isn’t expecting it to open. It does. Just a crack, in agonising slow motion, with an old wooden creak. Lexa then feels the need to stop Clarke from entering. She feels the need to be mature, responsible. They were only supposed to be driving past, not breaking in.

 

But then Lexa looks at Clarke, who doesn’t seem worried at all.

 

“Welcome home.” Clarke says, a little sarcastically. She steps boldly into the house without waiting for a response, and disappears from view.

 

Lexa stands like a statue, completely dumbfounded, and unable to act. She counts down the seconds, looking idly around at the garden, as if she’s waiting for something else to happen. As if she’s waiting for someone else to make her decision for her. She only now seems to be becoming aware of the space she’s in, stood alone in some strange garden. It’s absurd. She’s unsure whether or not she should follow.  

 

One thing she can’t deny, though, is that regardless of whether or not she should, she _wants_ to follow Clarke. A voice at the back of her mind is asking _what’s the worst thing that could happen?_ Lexa runs through the possibilities though, and stays rooted to the spot at the idea of cop cars pulling up and arresting them.

 

What eventually gets her to move, is another voice, asking a similar but far more convincing question. _What’s the best thing that could happen?_

 

Lexa steps slowly across the threshold, as if she’s nervous to set off some kind of alarm. She feels her fingers interlock behind her back, like Marcus does when he’s nervous, and she purposefully straightens herself out. Clarke, as Lexa had expected, is nowhere to be seen. She’s already lost in this labyrinth of a place. Their home.

 

The heat of the outside world is warm at Lexas back, as if it’s trying to pull her back outside. She shuts the door behind her, and lets the ambience of the house settle on her.

 

Lexa moves through the house as peacefully as she can, fully aware of the sound of her footsteps echoing off the wooden floor. It’s completely empty, and even the air has a sense of stillness to it. Clarke was right, it seems, about the house being empty. Luckily for them.

 

The main thing that catches Lexas attention is the _size_ of the house. It’s so much larger than her house now. She supposes that it would need to be, in order to house twice as many people. But it feels a little _too_ big. Perhaps because it’s empty. Lexa feels lost in the empty space, the bareness of the walls, and the stillness of the air.

 

Lexa stands in the center of the living room. She feels like she could get lost in it, it’s so large. It’s almost intimidating to her, in a way. This is a family home. She isn’t really sure what that word means. She isn’t familiar with that kind of life. Lexa tries to imagine her family, the four of them, sat in this room. Marcus and Abby, curled up together, watching tv, with her and Clarke doing the same.

 

Except no. That’s not what her and Clarke would be doing. She has to remind herself of that.

 

Lexa starts to feel even smaller in the space that surrounds her. It makes her feel tiny, like she could get lost in the distance between the walls. She imagines the furniture from her home, tries to imagine it in this space. She knows it won’t be big enough to fill the room. The couch in her living room can only fit two people, and even then, Lexa knows it’s been a long time since it’s had to actually do that. The tiny glass coffee table that Lexa has spent so many nights studying at won’t fit in this space, either. There won’t be a space where it’s appropriate.

 

Clarke had said that her house was bigger than this. Lexa imagines that most of her furniture would fit. Clarkes house recently had three people living in it, after all.

 

An image of Clarkes father steps into Lexas mind. It’s not a real image, of course, she never knew him. But this is the first time Lexa is thinking of him has someone real. As something other than _someone who died._ In some strange way, Lexa starts to think about how hard this must be for Clarke.

 

Perhaps that’s why Clarke brought them here. Perhaps she’s nervous. Perhaps she’s scared. Maybe she brought Lexa here in some attempt to conquer that fear. Lexa admires how hard she must be trying, especially to go into this with a smile on her face.

 

When Lexa heads upstairs, all of the bedroom doors are shut, apart from one. It’s the only source of light, brightening up the otherwise dim hallway. The beam of light emanating from the room cuts through the dark, a brilliant orange. The tiniest bits of dust float aimlessly through it, and then wisp quickly around Lexa, as she moves through them. When Lexa reaches the bedroom, the room is brilliantly bright, the sun visible through the window. Perched on the seat, made from the windowsill, is a blonde girl.

 

Lexa is used to watching Clarke from afar. The feeling of being distant and unknown, _unknowable,_ is familiar to her. So it catches her off guard, when after spending a few seconds watching Clarke idly swing her leg as she stares out of the window, Clarke turns and smiles at her. It’s like watching a painting, admiring all the minute details and intricacies of its beauty that one moment seem so distant, and then seeing something in it that addresses you directly.

 

“Would it be childish of me to claim the big bedroom?” Clarke asks lightly, already knowing the answer. Lexa stands in the doorway, dazzled a little by the sun.

 

“If that’s your reasoning, then yes,” Lexa answers, and they both smile. Lexa walks to the window, and feels the sun beating down on her skin. “You can have it though.”

 

“It’s just that I have a lot of stuff,” Clarke explains. “Like a _lot._ Too much. It’s been a nightmare going through it, getting it all ready.”

 

Lexa frowns in surprise, though it’s a pleasant surprise.

 

“You’ve already started packing?”

 

Clarkes jaw drops. She seems pleased.

 

“You _haven’t_ ?” Clarke asks. Lexa shakes her head, and Clarke doesn’t seem to believe it for a second. “Wow. I started packing before _Lexa.”_ She says slyly, addressing Lexa directly. Lexa feels herself smiling at the smugness in Clarkes tone. “I guess that officially means I am now a mature adult.”

 

Lexa laughs instinctively. Clarke chuckles too, after a moment.

 

“A mature adult who just ran upstairs to claim the big bedroom.” Lexa says plainly.

 

“ _I have a lot of stuff._ ” Clarke repeats in her defense. “I like to think of it as being proactive.”

 

“So proactive you had to break in to do it.” Lexa says playfully, only half-scolding. Clarke rolls her eyes, and returns her gaze to the world outside. Lexa does the same.

 

Lexas car is visible across the street. It looks a little out of place. Or rather, it _feels_ a little out of place. As if everything else around Lexa is so unreal it must all be a dream, but then that car is her connection to the real world. That car is the place where she and Anya had spent hours of every day laughing, and arguing. Or more often than not, both. That is the car she’d bought for herself, after spending far too many of her days working shifts far too long, at any place she could find, just to escape having to take the bus. That is the car that she’d been sat in when she’d had her first kiss, something that she’s terrified to think about. That car, is where she and Clarke had spent their first hour together. The girl now sat next to her.

 

Maybe all of this is real after all.

 

Lexa wonders what Clarke thinks of her now. She knows what Clarke _used_ to think of her, nobody storms out of the house in the middle of the night for nothing. But what does she think now? Not in terms of the engagement, not as her _sister,_ but as a person. If only Lexa were brave enough to ask.

 

“What did you tell your friends?” She asks as a substitute. Clarke looks back from the window, as if she was lost in thought too. “About you talking to me, in the cafeteria?” Lexa explains. “About this?”

 

Clarke sighs, before she speaks.

 

“Nothing,” She mutters. “Not the truth, anyway. When they saw us talking, I just said the first thing that came to mind.”

 

“And what was that?”

 

Clarke looks away, and half-chuckles before she speaks.

 

“That we’re working on a project together,” Lexa smiles, and Clarke does the same. “Thanks for that, by the way. I’d never have thought of something so simple on my own.” Lexa simply nods a little in response.

 

She wishes that they didn’t have to lie about this in the first place. But since Lexa had been the first to lie about it, she can’t really blame Clarke for doing the same. They both have a lot to lose, though she wishes things were different.

 

“Finn knows, though?” Lexa asks. She has to try not to choke on his name. She only mentions him because Clarke looks like she could use a reminder that it’s not all bad.

 

She smiles. Not at Lexa, but outside. The light catches in her eyes, and Lexa revels in it for only a second, before she pulls her gaze away. That look isn’t meant for her.

 

“Yeah.” Clarke says softly, so slowly that the one syllable almost becomes two.

 

“You aren’t worried that he might tell the rest of them?”

 

Clarke looks back to Lexa. She’s frowning.

 

“No,” She says plainly. Lexa holds her gaze, before Clarke looks away. “Finn is good. He wouldn’t do that to me.”

 

What hurts Lexa the most, is the idea that Clarke thinks of her as something _wrong._ Something to be kept secret. Sure, Lexa is keeping Clarke a secret, too. But their motives seem completely different. Lexa feels like she has an answer to her question. She knows what Clarke thinks of her now.

 

“You and Finn…” Lexa starts after a moment. She can feel the question on the tip of her tongue, and she isn’t sure why she wants to ask it. She already knows the answer. But Clarke turns to look at her, and there’s no going back. “The two of you are together?”

 

“No.”

 

The word is so simple, so unexpected, that it takes a moment to register. Lexa frowns. She must have misheard.

 

Then Clarke laughs. It’s quick, just a breath, like someone had told a joke. She smiles at Lexa, and Lexa has hope, because that’s all she’s ever had. That’s all she’s ever needed.

 

“It’s complicated,” Clarke continues. _Complicated how?_ Lexa thinks, before she stops herself. It’s none of her business. And to be perfectly honest, she doesn’t need an explanation. She’s perfectly happy with the _no_. Clarke continues anyway, though. “I like Finn. He’s a good guy, but… we aren’t a couple.”

 

Lexa changes her mind. She wants an explanation.

 

“Why not?” She asks, attempting to sound like a concerned friend, rather than someone with a stupid crush.

 

Clarke looks away and sighs. She’s smiling though, as she shakes her head. As if she’s thinking about something funny. As if someone has just told a joke so awful it loops back around to being funny again.

 

“Stupid love triangle bullshit.” She says, with a chuckle. She looks back to see Lexas reaction, and Lexa finds herself chuckling too. Lexa isn’t necessarily thrilled at the idea of Clarke being involved with a second guy, but she supposes that’s something she’ll just have to get used to. At least for now it means she’s single. Clarke is her own person after all, she doesn’t owe Lexa anything.

 

But besides, even if Clarke knew how Lexa felt, it’s not like she could ever feel the same way.

 

“So there’s another guy?” Lexa asks inquisitively. Clarke shakes her head.

 

“A girl.”

 

It takes Lexa a few moments of gay confusion, to realise that Clarke isn’t the one in the middle of this love triangle, Finn is. For a moment, she felt like her heart was going to leap out of chest. Lexa had thought for a moment that Clarke was saying she likes girls, because she just assumed that Clarke would have multiple people chasing after her.

 

Fortunately, Lexa gives none of this away. She just nods as if she understands, and her and Clarke return to looking out through the window.

 

“Raven likes him too.” Clarke mutters after a while. Lexa looks down at her, as she sits on the windowsill. Her tone is difficult to read. She stares straight ahead, as if she was talking to herself, not to Lexa. There’s something subtly pained about the way she speaks, as if there’s something she isn’t letting herself feel. Maybe that’s what makes Lexa want to cheer her up, despite how much the words hurt her.

 

“He only kisses you though.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. Perhaps this is something she’s already considered.

 

“That doesn’t normally happen,” Clarke explains. Lexa doesn’t feel like asking what _does_ normally happen. “It’s supposed to be a secret.”

 

Lexa snorts out a laugh, because she thought Clarke was joking. It takes Clarke by surprise, and Lexa feels guilty for a split second, before Clarke smiles.

 

“It’s _supposed_ to be a secret,” She elaborates. “Apparently it isn’t. Raven doesn’t know, and that’s what counts.” Clarke pauses for a moment as if she’s contemplating something. When she speaks, she seems almost to be surprised at the words. “We’ve gotten closer, since… well, since you,” Lexa feels her brow narrowing. “Since _this,_ I mean.” Clarke gestures at the room, the house. It represents a lot more than just a building, and Lexa starts to understand.

 

Lexa can see how much Clarke likes Finn. It’s evident from the softness in her tone, as if she’s talking of something with a deep fondness. Lexa knows that Clarke will never be hers. But being this close to her, it’s hard to not want it. Lexa can only admire the details of her face. The maturity in that immature smile. The ocean blue of her eyes, that Lexa focuses on so often she’s starting to annoy even herself. She’s just grateful she gets to experience it, even if it does feel like she’s still admiring her from afar.

 

“When will you tell the rest of them?” Lexa asks, after a moment of quiet. “About me?”

 

Clarke seems to contemplate it, for a moment. Her answer surprises Lexa.

 

“Whenever you want me to.”

 

Lexa feels the surprise on her face. Clarke is being completely sincere. This is not at all the girl from a few days ago, who ran away from her problems.

 

“You’ve got the most to lose, I guess. With Anya. And besides, it’s not exactly the end of the world, is it?” Clarke follows jokingly. “I mean, I know you probably think my friends are terrible people, and I wouldn’t blame you. But they aren’t. I wouldn’t be friends with them if they were.”

 

Lexa knows that what Clarke is saying probably true. But she remembers all the things they’ve done. She remembers the way Murphy looked at her, just earlier today. They don’t get to erase all of that just because of this. Even if they are good people, the good doesn’t overwrite the bad. It’s all a part of who they are.

 

Maybe Clarke is right, but as far as Lexa is concerned, they don’t feel like good people.

 

“I don’t think they’re bad people,” Lexa lies. “But if I did, it would be because that’s all they’ve shown me of themselves.”

 

“They could probably say the same about you.” Clarke answers, without hesitating. There’s no aggression in her tone. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. She sounds remorseful. She sounds sorry. “And you’d _all_ be wrong. Just like-”

 

Clarke goes to speak, but stops herself. Perhaps she was about to argue more. Maybe she was about to launch into a defense of her friends, before realising it was pointless. Maybe she was about to try and convince Lexa she should like them, in some way. Maybe she was about to point out some of the things Anya has had to do against them, in self-defense. Mayb-

 

“Just like I was wrong about you.”

 

//

 

They were her fathers words.

 

Clarke knows that’s what he would have wanted her to say. It’s him she’s doing this for, after all. She’s honouring his memory, by promising to do better. She’d put off thinking about him almost all day, but she can’t hide from him any more. Not in this house, the house that will never be his. In the room he’ll never get to see her decorate. She promised her mom she’d do better. She promised _him,_ his memory. Clarke never likes admitting when she’s wrong, but in this instance, she has to.

 

It was never Lexa that Clarke should have been angry at. She knows Lexa is just the victim of her friends, and Anya too, who Lexa is now risking losing because of this. Clarkes friends are the ones causing the problem, and it’s them she should be annoyed with.

 

It’s strange, the things you allow yourself to get away with once you’ve dehumanised someone. It’s why people so willingly go to war, and high school certainly is its own kind of warzone. Why is it only now that Clarke is starting to feel guilty? It’s not as if she didn’t know the jokes people told about Lexa. It’s not as if she didn’t hear the things people said to her. It’s not as if she didn’t hear the rumours that went round about her.

 

Maybe it’s because Lexa never seemed bothered by them. Though Clarke is now starting to realise that _of course_ she was, she just didn’t show it. She is very quickly coming to admire Lexas strength, despite all the people in her life who have tried to make it hard for her. Clarke hopes to remove herself from that list of people.

 

Lexa doesn’t say anything for a long time. Maybe she doesn’t know what to say, without making Clarke feel worse. Or maybe she is simply annoyed at Clarke for being so blind, and so selfish. In the short time that Clarke and Lexa have known each other, Lexa has always known what to say. Now she’s silent.

 

But still, Clarke doesn’t feel pressured. There’s something about the aura that Lexa gives off that Clarke is really coming to appreciate. Clarke doesn’t feel the need to filter herself around her. She can be more honest here than she can with anyone else. Maybe even Finn.

 

When Lexa speaks, it doesn’t startle Clarke. Her voice is soft. And she’s smiling.

 

“I like that you’re able to say that about yourself.”

 

In a way, it’s exactly what Clarke needs to hear. There’s no judgement, but she also isn’t letting Clarke off from what she’s done. The smile that comes along with it helps, too. Clarke doesn’t know how to respond, and so simply smiles back. After a moment of her and Lexa not saying anything, and simply smiling, Clarke is actually laughing.

 

“I like that you’re able to say that you like that about me.” She jokes after a moment.

 

Clarke rather likes the way Lexa laughs. It’s a little reserved, as if she doesn’t do it often, but it’s also entirely sincere. She laughs with her entire being.

 

Lexa is not at all what Clarke was expecting.

 

The laughter settles down, and Clarke drifts her view back outside. The sun just starting to dip behind a cloud, and something about the street seems a little quieter than when they’d arrived. Some of the houses across the street have started turning their lights on, a little earlier than they need to, though not by much. The gold of the lights matches the leaves that line the floor, in the yellows of late autumn. Clarke knows that this, in some strange way, is one of the memories of her father that she’ll one day paint. Because even if he isn’t here, she wants him to be.

 

Clarke knows that as the early night settles, they won’t have much more time in the house. She isn’t sure what she’d been expecting as Lexa drove them here. One thing she certainly didn’t see coming, though, is that she wouldn’t want to leave.

 

“I’ll tell my friends once you’ve told Anya.” Clarke says, after a while.

 

She expects lexa to be okay with that. So when she glances up at the girl, and sees a troubled expression, she isn’t sure what to make of it. Lexa seems to be fighting herself over her words as she speaks.

 

“Telling Anya is… complicated.” Lexa explains reluctantly.

 

“How?” Clarke asks, thinking she already knows the answer. Anya hates her, and Clarke doesn’t blame her. But she can only hope to make that up to her.

 

“She knows we aren’t working on a project.”

 

“So you told her the truth?”

 

Lexa shakes her head.

 

“No. That lie... it just got complicated. There’s a lot of stuff going on. She was asking too many questions, she knew I was lying anyway. I couldn't keep it going.”

 

Clarkes first reaction is confusion, but then, in a way she would never have anticipated, she feels admiration. She actually ends up chuckling to herself.

 

“Anya does seem like she’d be hard to lie to.” Lexa chuckles too, and though she isn’t fully aware of it, Clarke is proud of herself for making some of the conflict disappear from Lexas face. “So what does Anya think is happening, then?”

 

Clarke barely has time to read into the expression on Lexas face before it’s gone.

 

“I have no idea,” She says, sounding exasperated. “She doesn’t like it though, whatever it is.” Clarke can’t really make sense of that. Anya must think that her and Lexa have just randomly become friends over night. She can only imagine how bizarre that must seem to her, without any context. “How about I just tell her once you’ve told your friends?” Lexa asks.

 

The two of them are going around in circles. Someone has to go first. Maybe her and Lexa are more alike than anyone would have guessed. They’re both just scared of the same thing, really, just on slightly different scales.

 

“Honestly, I’m just as scared to tell my friends.” Clarke starts. “I don-”

 

There’s something Clarke wants to say. She nearly does, but she can’t. The words get caught in her chest. She’s never spoken about it before, not with anyone. Not with anyone but her mom. The situation is harder than anyone knows.

 

But Lexa seems to pick up on it. She doesn’t rush in to speak when Clarke stammers. She let’s Clarke choose. Maybe that’s what gives Clarke the courage to start.

 

“I don’t know how to tell them about any of this.” Clarke murmurs. She’s staring off into the distance, as she imagines doing that very thing. Her eyes seem both vacant, and troubled, at the same time. She glances up at Lexa only briefly, and sees nothing but patience. “I mean, any of it. I don’t… I don’t know how to have that conversation.”

 

“Do they hate me that much?” Lexa asks, probably all too aware that Clarke asked the same thing of Anya.

 

“No.” Clarke answers quickly. Clarke remembers that she didn’t believe Lexa either, when she said the same of Anya. “I mean, they aren’t your biggest fans,” Clarke admits. “but they’ll be fine if I tell them to be. They’ll just think it’s funny, that’s all.”

 

“Then what is it?”

 

Clarke starts to speak, but the words catch. She feels stuck. She feels lost. Once again, she is grateful when Lexa waits for her to be ready.

 

“It’s not you, Lexa.” She says finally. Her voice is barely audible, though it’s the strongest she can make it. “It’s my dad. I don’t know how to… None of them know. About him.” She pauses, waiting for Lexa to understand. Lexa knows little of Clarkes dad, besides the fact that he’s gone. She sees the recognition fall onto her face, but then she continues, because she feels she should. “I never told them he died.”

 

“Why?” Lexa asks, as softly as she can.

 

Clarke shakes her head. It’s confusion. It’s denial.

 

“I didn’t want to talk about it.” She explains, eventually. “The longer I left it, the easier it got to ignore. Finn knows, and Wells, but we’ve never really talked about it. Not properly.”

 

Clarke sees Lexa stiffen her back, in the corner of her vision. Clarke is staring out of the window, as if actually being present in the room is a little too much. Lexa breathes in deeply, before she speaks.

 

“You don’t have to tell them, if you don’t want to.” she says. Clarke looks up slowly, in surprise. “About me, I mean. Or your dad. It takes as long as it takes. I’m not going to rush you.”

 

Lexas eyes seem to be glowing, in the early evening light. They’re encapsulating. Clarke has to actually force herself to look away. Maybe it’s because of how raw she’s feeling, but there’s suddenly something powerful about the way Lexa looks. As if Clarke is really, only now _truly_ seeing her. Clarke will be sure to capture that, when she no doubt paints this day eventually. Just Lexa, occupying a tiny space in the empty room, framed by the light. Clarke has never seen someone seem so reserved and so powerful at the same time.

 

Clarke then looks away, blinks in surprise, and sighs. It’s as if she’s freeing herself from the weight of something she’d been carrying.

 

“I will tell them.” She says firmly. “I just don’t know if I can. I don’t know if i’m brave enough to have that conversation.”

 

“Clarke.” Lexa says gently, to get her attention. Clarke looks up at her, and tries not to lose herself in the vastness of her eyes. “You’re having it now.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Dance through the blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, uhh, i took nearly a month off from writing, whoops. oh well, better late than never :D
> 
> this story is moving a lot slower than i'd originally planned out, which i'm super glad about, i like it much better this way. though i have discovered that i have the remarkable ability to write six and half thousand words where FUCK-ALL HAPPENS. for reference, when i planned this out, clarke and lexa were living together by the end of chapter 3(ish). turns out there was a lot more stuff that i needed to dig into before they get to that point. though worry not! this should be the penultimate chapter before THINGS start happening. 
> 
> so yeah, hold onto your butts and brace yourselves for *things*

By the time Lexa and Clarke leave their new home, the sun has all but disappeared beyond the horizon. The only evidence of the suns existence being the last remnants of its light, pink and orange swirls, on the very far side of the sky. The streetlights are glowing bright against the dark-navy sky above them like fallen stars. As Lexa drives, the lights wisp over the windshield like comets, blazing past in silent slow motion. Lexa struggles to keep her focus on the road the entire way home, because of the girl sat next to her. Clarke seems to be just as enamoured with the atmosphere of the evening as Lexa is with her. Clarkes eyes light up as they talk, whenever Lexa allows herself a sideways glance at her. The lights dance through the blue like fireflies.

 

They’d stayed in their new house for as long as the sun would allow, before being cast out. Lexa couldn’t help but chuckle, when she was watching Clarke play with the light switch in her new bedroom, wondering why nothing was happening. It was a while before Clarke caught on that nobody was there to pay the electricity bill. She’d worn the embarrassment proudly, though. Adorably. Something Lexa admires.

 

“Are you sure you don’t mind me having the big bedroom?” Clarke had asked her, when they had left the house and were walking back to Lexas car.

 

Lexa had looked across at the salmon-pink sunset, glowing on the horizon and fading into the dark sky above them. The light was mostly hidden by the house opposite theirs, and the sunset would only be visible from one bedroom in their house. The big one. The one that would be Clarkes.

 

“I insist,” Lexa had answered softly. She glanced back at Clarke just in time to catch her smile, small and appreciative. Clarke had her arms wrapped lightly around herself, like the chill of the evening breeze was starting to take effect on her. Lexa, though, wasn’t cold at all. “I like to get the sun in the morning.” Lexa had explained. Clarke had frowned, intrigued, but Lexa had smiled and said nothing else.

 

Clarke is quiet on the way back, which Lexa doesn’t mind. In fact, it fascinates her. It’s not a side to Clarke she’s used to seeing, she’s normally the loudest person in the room. That’s what had drawn Lexa to her in the first place, after all. That’s what made her take notice. That’s what made Lexa start to fall for her, all those years ago, when the idea of the two of them being anything more than strangers felt impossible.

 

Lexa can understand why Clarke is so quiet. She’s no doubt feeling vulnerable. Lexa can tell as much, from the way she tucks her arms into herself as they drive home, as if for warmth, like there’s something cold inside of her.

 

Clarke had taken the time to explain to Lexa how her father had passed away. It was a difficult story for Lexa to even hear, and so she can only imagine how hard it must have been for Clarke to tell it. But it seemed to help, somewhat. When they left the house, though, Clarke was smiling. Because at one point, Lexa had asked Clarke a question that made her eyes light up.

 

_What was he like?_

 

Lexa feels like she knows every single thing there is to know about the man that was Jake Griffin. She feels like she has a complete image of him in her mind, so specific that she can even see the way he smiled. Jake used to take Clarke everywhere, when she was little. Most of the interesting stories are from when Clarke was very young. He’d take her to the beach on the weekends, and take her camping in the woods over the summer. He would take her to art galleries and museums, and would tell her stories about the pieces on display. Apparently it didn’t take Clarke long to figure out he was making most of it up to seem smart, and soon enough, she knew more about the pieces than he did, and it was the child teaching the parent.

 

When Clarke had mentioned to Lexa that she’s an artist, Lexa feigned ignorance. She quietly understood the significance of Clarke revealing that fact about herself. Lexa can still remember the exact words Clarke had spoken to her two years ago, in the art department, even if Clarke can’t remember it at all.

 

_This is good, Clarke. I had no idea you painted._

 

_Most people don’t. I like it that way._

 

Clarke had loved telling Lexa the stories about her father, and Lexa had loved listening to them.

 

Regaling Clarke with stories of her own father was slightly less entertaining, though Clarke listened to every word like her future depended on them. Which it does, in a way. Lexa and Marcus aren’t nearly as close as Clarke had been with her dad, or even as close as Clarke is with her mother. But when Lexa was talking about Marcus, she found herself doing so with a sense of pride. He’s a hard working man, intelligent and kind, who’d done the best job he could raising a child all on his own. Clarke had joked that he’d done a good job, and Lexa could feel the redness in her cheeks for a good while after.

 

Clarke gives Lexa directions to her house, once they reach the outskirts of their neighbourhood. The closer Clarke says they are to her house, though, the slower Lexa finds herself driving. She doesn’t want the evening to end, despite the fact that she knows it inevitably has to. Because it’s Clarke. It’s her and Clarke. It’s impossible, and it’s happening, and though she’s trying her best to contain herself, Lexa is thrilled.

 

But then, she supposes, there’s a potential lifetime of evenings like this sprawled out in front of them. Their relationship may not be exactly what Lexa wants, but it’s more than enough to make her happy.

 

“Thanks for letting me use you as a therapist tonight,” Clarke jokes lightly, when the car comes to a stop outside her home. “I swear I’m not usually this depressing.”

 

Lexa chuckles along with her. She’s grateful that her and Clarke are finally able to talk to each other, and even moreso that they can seemingly be completely honest with each other.

 

 _About most things at least,_ she thinks, as feels her heart flutter at Clarkes smile.  

 

“It’s fine, Clarke,” Lexa says with a smile. “I had a good time.”

 

“Yeah, me too.” Clarke says, her voice lifting a little at the end, as if she’s a little surprised by that fact.

 

Lexa and Clarke share a glance. A brief moment of silence, just a few heartbeats long, followed by one final nervous chuckle from both of them. One final recognition of how strange and unlikely their entire situation is. They both know what the laugh means, and so no words need to be spoken. It feels like one last peace offering.

 

Lexa notices that Clarke makes no move to get out of the car.

 

Lexas attention moves to something in the distance, behind Clarke. A light. The evening has long since become dark, and Lexa can barely make out the details of Clarkes home. The only part of it she can see is the glowing gold light emanating from a downstairs window. It seems warm, and bright against the night. It’s a sign that the house isn’t empty.

 

It’s a reminder, that despite how the evening may have made Lexa feel, her and Clarke are not in fact the only two people in the world.

 

“Your mom is home?” Lexa asks slowly, though she isn’t sure why. Her heart beats just that little bit faster, for some reason. It’s nerves, though she doesn’t acknowledge it. Clarke follows Lexas gaze, over her shoulder, towards the light. She’s smiling when she turns back to Lexa.

 

“Either that or someone’s broken in,” She jokes. Lexa feels her lips curling up into a smile. “I guess that would just be karma though, right? We’ve got it coming.”

 

“It was you that broke in,” Lexa reminds Clarke firmly. Clarke smiles, and rolls her eyes. “I simply followed.”

 

“Technicalities.” Clarke mutters, a little childishly.

 

Lexas focus drifts over Clarkes shoulder again, to the light behind her. She’s unsure how it makes her feel, or why it makes her feel anything at all. In the gentle silence that follows, she can feel the unasked question hanging in the air, dangling from Clarkes lips.

 

_Do you want to come in and meet her?_

 

Clarke doesn’t ask though. Maybe sensing that it’s still a little too soon for both of them. Instead, Lexa simply watches Clarke laugh one last time, feeling that it will be the last time she hears it tonight. It’s a laugh she’s admired for years. But now, she really gets to _feel_ it, because she’s the one who made it happen.

 

Clarke pulls her gaze away far sooner than Lexa wants her to. She opens the door and swings her legs out.

 

“Text me when you get home?” She asks, glancing back at Lexa. Lexa quickly tries to read her expression, her tone, wondering why Clarke is asking. But she figures that Clarkes motives probably aren’t that deep. Of the two of them, Lexa is the only one who is concealing any feelings. Lexa is the only one who wants every tiny interaction to have a deeper meaning. Clarke probably just wants to make sure she gets home safe.

 

Because they’re sisters, and that’s what sisters do.

 

“I will.” Lexa says sweetly. Clarke offers one last smile before the door shuts, and Lexa finds herself watching her from afar again.

 

The space inside the car suddenly seems much darker than it was before. It feels larger, emptier. Normally Lexa loves the sound of silence, but now though, it starts to feel like she’s missing something. The space feels cold.

 

Lexa warms again though, when after walking a few paces, Clarke turns to wave her off.

 

“Give me a heads-up before you spill the beans with Anya.” She half-shouts, with a smile. Lexa doesn’t say anything back, because she doesn’t need to. Instead she simply nods to Clarke, who smiles back. Just like that, the silence feels a little better.

 

Lexa drives away soon after, because she knows that if she stays, she could watch Clarke Griffin walk away forever.

 

It’s only a ten minute drive from Clarkes house to Lexas. It’s strange, that they lived so close, for so long, and yet came so close to never being a part of each others lives. But to Lexas mind, the distance passes in a second. As she drives, she isn’t really present. She’s lost herself to thoughts of messy blonde curls, and the way they shine. The way Clarkes eyes are never quite the same shade of blue each time you look, like she refuses to let the light tame them, and the way she can convey entire histories worth of emotion with just a look. The way her smile is both mature and immature at the same time, so teasing and confident, so perfectly designed to make you want to smile back, and the way she combines it all to make Lexas heart beat faster in her chest, to the point where she can barely conceal it.

 

Lexa has it bad for this girl, and she knows it. She decides she’ll get over, eventually. She’ll _make_ herself get over it. She has to. Just, not tonight. She wants to keep tonight for herself.

 

When Lexa arrives outside her home, something keeps her in her seat for a moment. Some feeling inside her chest makes her stay, as if she’s being held down by some force, and she simply watches her house. Just like at Clarkes, there is one lone light on inside her home, shining against the dark. Lexa, at the thought of her father, finds herself unwilling to enter the house.

 

Lexa is very quickly growing tired of the turmoil she feels, over her situation. The conflicting emotions have been battling inside her non-stop for the last few days. She goes from moments of elation to moments of guilt in the time between breaths, and she isn’t sure how much longer she can keep it up. Even though her and Clarke have made progress, Lexa still has no idea what will happen tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that.

 

It’s Clarke. It all comes down to Clarke. She’s lying to Anya about Clarke. She’s lying to Marcus about Clarke. She’s lying to Clarke herself. But as much as Clarke is the cause of the way Lexa feels, she’s also Lexas only escape. Because as the evening has proved, when Lexa is with her, she eclipses everything else. There are no lies, or _tomorrows_ to worry about. Reality stops existing for a brief while, and Lexa can just admire her, even if she can’t show it. Even if she has to wear that emotionless mask that probably made Clarke dislike her in the first place.

 

But then there’s the reality. There’s Anya, who Lexa will eventually have to talk to about all of this. There’s Marcus, waiting inside, who no doubt already knows Lexa spent the evening with Clarke. And there’s Clarke, who has so much to deal with already, that Lexa couldn’t talk to her about her feelings even if she wanted to.

 

Then there’s Abby, who Lexa could have met just a few minutes ago if either of the girls were brave enough. But Clarke hadn’t asked. Lexa feels that, if she _was_ asked, she would have said yes. But for some reason, because of that quiet nervousness in her belly, she didn’t want to be asked.

 

Her unease is unnecessary, she knows that. She’s sure Abby is lovely, based on the information she’s already gained about her. But there was something ominous about that light, coming from Clarkes house. Something a little too _real_. Reflected now in the light she sees coming from her own house. Lexa likes the idea of it being just her and Clarke, like it had been all evening. But it’s not just Clarke she’s moving in with.

 

It’s not specifically Abby that’s making her nervous, Lexa knows. It goes deeper than that. Simply, Lexa isn’t sure how she feels about getting a new mother. As foolish a concept as it is to admit, Lexa doesn’t know how mothers work. How _families_ work. It’s not a life she’s familiar with, and she’s not sure it’s one that will suit her. She isn’t sure what to expect, and she suspects that she won’t at all be what Abby is expecting, either. She doesn’t want to make a bad first impression.

 

Clarke hadn’t asked Lexa any questions about her mother, during the hours they’d spent in their new home, talking about their parents. Maybe because she knows there aren’t any stories to tell. Maybe that’s why Clarke didn’t invite Lexa in.

 

Lexa shakes her head. She needs to stop worrying. She’d been worried about Clarke at first too, just as Clarke had been worried about her, but everything had gone far better than either of them could have guessed. Lexa has to believe that everything else will go well for them too, just as she has to assume that she’ll get over this damn crush.

 

She steadies her breath, and steps out of the car. The cold air stings her skin slightly, but it only fuels her. She feels her body relax, and she feels the mask settle. She can’t love Clarke. Because Marcus loves Abby, and hurting either of them is something she won’t ever do.

 

When Lexa opens the door to her home, it bumps into the same stack of boxes that had surprised her in the morning. The morning that feels like a lifetime ago, so much has happened inbetween. The pile of boxes is smaller than it was in the morning, though, and Lexa notices that the house seems a little more bare than when she’d left. She tries not to think about it.

 

She finds Marcus sat comfortably on the couch when she enters, with his feet resting on the coffee table. His nose is buried in a book, one with a creased and broken old spine, that in all likelihood is older than she is. The house is lit with a warm orange glow, as if lit by a fireplace rather than a lightbulb, and there’s a warmth that hugs Lexas skin as soon as she enters. Her nose is filled with the familiar smell of home, some unique mix of coffee and honey, paper and ink, and some type of strong wood. Marcus smiles, gentle and mature, when he sees Lexa.

 

It’s a smile that Lexa finds herself easily returning.

 

“You’re out late.” Marcus says. It’s playfully curious, and a little drawn out, sounding almost like a question, but not quite.

 

Lexa isn’t sure how much he already knows, and despite it being her first instinct, she can’t think of a good reason to lie to him.

 

“I was with Clarke.”

 

His face doesn't move. Still showing just barest hints of intrigue, though his eyes barely flicker from his book. There’s something else beneath the vague curiosity, though, an emotion so subtle that it would be invisible to most people. But Lexa knows him well enough to see it. It’s a smirk only half smirked. It’s a hint of smugness.

 

“It went well, by the way.” Lexa continues, a little playful, and a little defiant. “Since I know you won’t ask.”  

 

“Did it now?” Marcus says, pretending to be disinterested. They both know very well that it’s an act, though. And then, after a few beats, Marcus says, “You found some common ground, then?”

 

It’s the way he raises an eyebrow that makes Lexa smile. She fights it down and moves past him towards the kitchen so that he won't see it.

 

“Are you going to say I told you so?”

 

“I would never,” he jokes. “Mockery is not the product of-”

 

“You don’t have to say it,” Lexa interjects, smirking. “Believe me, Marcus, I know.”

 

Lexa stands briefly in the doorway to the kitchen, with Marcus sat facing away from her. Even just by looking at the back of his head, she can see the way he smiles.

 

The living room is small, incredibly cramped, even moreso now that Marcus appears to have started packing. But it’s still cosy, just as Lexa is used to. Lexas home is so tightly packed, and perfectly fitting, that it feels to her like a shell, a second skin. Familiar and warm. It makes her feel protected in the same way, too. She never previously thought she’d had a strong connection to the place, but it feels a lot more like _home_ than the building she’d spent the evening in.

 

In the kitchen, Lexa flicks the kettle on to make herself tea. Neither her or Marcus say anything while it boils, though Lexa knows Marcus is no doubt running through the upcoming conversation in his head, just as she is. She’ll tell him the bare minimum, she decides. Enough to get him to not worry.

 

When Lexa finishes making her tea, which she takes black, just like her father, she turns to find him stood in the doorway. Where she’d been stood moments ago. He’s wearing an optimistic smile, a little reserved, though he does couple it with the frown of a concerned father.

 

“It went well?”

 

His tone is delicate and controlled. Lightly hinting that there’s a story to be told, one that he wants to hear. Maybe he suspects Lexa is lying, which she doesn’t blame him for. She nods, and says nothing for a moment, though she knows he expects more. She knows she _owes_ him more.

 

“I like her.” Lexa says slowly. She feels the smile that takes shape on her lips as she speaks the words. It’s the first time she’s said it aloud.

 

She hopes to see Marcus’ curiosity disappear, and his smile grow wider, but they don’t. He simply waits, because he knows her too well. The silence, only a few beats long, pulls the words out of her. With a small smile she can’t fight, Lexa continues.

 

“She likes me,” She says hesitantly. “I think.” Now Marcus makes no attempt to hide how pleased he is, and Lexa feels her body soften and relax. “Her negative reaction wasn’t about me. At least not to the degree I anticipated. There are... other things she’s dealing with.”

 

Marcus, Lexa notes, never does say _I told you so._ He might as well though, based on the look on his face.

 

“I’m glad,” He says simply. He moves into the room and sits at the table, and Lexa instinctively joins him, though she isn’t sure she has much more to say. Marcus continues, “Abby was thrilled when Clarke told her about this.”

 

“I can imagine.” Lexa agrees. Clarke had made no small mention of how her and her mother had argued over this. “ _When_ did Clarke tell Abby, out of interest?”

 

The real question being asked is, _did you know I was with Clarke the whole time?_ Marcus understands this just as much as Lexa.

 

“In school, I believe. They were planning on seeing the house together today. Until Clarke chose to go with you.”

 

_Clarke chose me._

 

Lexa almost doesn’t want to believe it. She doesn’t want to let herself have hope. But the simple acknowledgement makes her impossibly happy. Her heart skips, just a little, and she feels herself smile. Hearing someone else say it, even if Marcus doesn’t understand the significance, makes it feel real. Makes it feel possible.

 

Marcus notices her reaction, though outwardly Lexa doesn’t reveal much. He’s happy for her, just as she’s happy for him, and he has no idea how complicated that makes things.

 

“So you knew I was with Clarke the whole time?” Lexa asks curiously. Marcus nods, just a confirmation of what Lexa already knew.

 

“I did.” Marcus confirms. “Though, I won’t ask what took you so long.”

 

He smiles at things he doesn’t know about, and Lexa feels herself smile back. He’d never assume they broke into the house. No, he’d never assume that of Lexa. He _might_ assume it of Clarke, if he knew her well enough. Lexa is happy to let him think whatever he wants. He can tell whatever story he wants to tell.

 

“You weren’t worried?” Lexa asks. “Last we spoke of Clarke, I thought she wanted to kill me.”

 

“You’re a smart girl. You can handle yourself.” Marcus answers, equally light. “Though I never actually thought she wanted to kill you.”

 

Lexa chuckles, just a quick breath. Marcus does the same. Neither says anything for a while. Silences are a frequent part of their conversations, and neither of them minds it. They both like to take a moment to contemplate things. A trait Lexa wishes more people held. This is normally the part of the conversation where the two of them would break eye contact, and Lexa does, but Marcus doesn’t. She understands why, as he watches her with a tempered smile, and bright old eyes. Lexa is thinking about Clarke, but Marcus is thinking about Lexa.

 

Marcus eventually breaks the silence, with a quiet voice.

 

“What is it you're nervous about?”

 

Lexa glances up at him, narrows her eyes, and then looks away again. He knows her too well. Not only does he know something is wrong, but he somehow senses that Lexa needs to talk about it, even though she’s trying to give the exact opposite impression.

 

She doesn’t even know where to start.

 

_I have feelings for Clarke. There’s more to it than that, but that’s what makes the rest hurt so much. I have a crush on Clarke, the girl that will soon be my sister, a girl that I’ll soon be living with. On top of that, my best friend hates her, and to make it worse, it’s entirely justified. I’ve been lying to both of them about the whole thing too, so I’ve betrayed the trust of the only people who might be able to help me through this. Clarkes friends hate me too, or at least act like they do, and Clarke is caught in the middle, not knowing how I feel, with a boyfriend she can’t really be with and the ghost of her dad sat on her shoulder. Also, I’m terrified to get a new mother, because I don’t know how to be a daughter to one, and Clarke feels like she’s getting a cheap replacement for her father, even if she is trying her best to cope with it._

 

“I don’t think I can put it into words.”

 

Marcus holds Lexas gaze, with a blank expression. His eyes are saying a lot, though. It’s as if he’s trying to read her, gain some understanding so that he can help. So that he can say the right thing. And inevitably, after a moment's consideration, he does.

 

“Then don’t,” Lexa looks up at him. His face is so free of worry, that it almost has the same effect on her. His eyes have a peculiar lightness to them, and he’s smiling, small, but wholly reassuring. He doesn’t shift uncomfortably, the way he normally would, when conversations get heavy. Maybe it’s Abby that’s had that effect on him. He looks as if everything will be okay, and the problems are already gone and dealt with. “I may not know exactly what troubles you. I may never know. But if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that you can handle it.”

 

Lexa sees him pause, as if preparing for the weight of the words that are about to follow. He offers them gently, but also firmly.

 

“You always do.”

 

The words mean, _you’ve been hurt before, and it didn’t stop you then._

 

If they were a hugging family, this is when they’d do it. Instead, a smile and a nervous glance away are enough. The sigh that Lexa breathes, as the tension uncoils from her shoulders, conveys more gratitude than words ever could.

 

Lexa doesn’t like the memories the statement brings to the front of her mind, memories of another girl, but the sentiment means a lot to her. Lexa starts to suspect just how much Marcus is able to intuit about her feelings towards Clarke, but neither of them feel the need to say any more. Lexa goes to her room a moment later with a smile on her face, and an unfamiliar lightness in her chest.

 

She pulls out her phone to text Clarke, to let her know she got home safely. But she stops, phone in hand, as soon as the screen lights up. There’s something in the way, preventing her from texting Clarke.

 

That _something_ being a metaphorical _wall_ of texts from Anya, going back to almost immediately after they’d separated after school.

 

Lexa sits unsteadily on her bed with a sigh, a smile, and a heavy heart.

 

Anya has been busy. Text after text, question after question, some making Lexas chest hurt with guilt, or frustration, and almost all of them making her laugh. Anya was worried about her, that much is clear. Though the tone she uses is mostly playful, mocking almost, and the words used are mostly vulgar, there’s a lot of love behind them. The concern comes from a good place, though she’s not exactly a poet.

 

Lexa tries to ignore the texts in which Anya reiterates her opinion of Clarke. Anya doesn’t officially know how Lexa feels about Clarke, even though in practice she completely does, and she’s taking the opportunity to try to turn Lexa away from her. It hurts, because Lexa feels there’s a chance that the two of them would get along, if they just gave each other a chance. From the things Anya is saying, though, she doesn’t plan on giving Clarke anything.

 

Lexa, eventually, sends Clarke and Anya the exact same text.

 

 **Lexa  :** I made it home alive x

 

In completely predictable fashion, Anya and Clarkes replies come simultaneously.

 

 **Anya   :** ew no kisses, I don’t know where your lips have been

 **Clarke :** awesome, glad you didn’t die x

 

Lexa feels relief at both of them, because though their methods may not be the same, the sentiment certainly is. Lexa just has to find a way of bridging the gap between the two of them, and everything will be fine.

 

_It’ll be fine, if you just ignore the fact that you're in love with your step-sister, and that your best friend hates her. Yeah, totally fine._

 

 **Anya:** so am I allowed to ask how your date went?

 

Lexa shakes her head to try and shake away her smirk, though the levity Anya is bringing to the situation is not entirely unwelcome. Lexa considers not answering, because making Anya wait until they see each other tomorrow will drive the girl mad. But then, Lexa realises, that it will probably drive _her_ mad too. Plus, maybe once they start talking, Lexa will find the right moment to explain the truth of everything.

 

Maybe once Anya understands how complicated everything is, Lexa won’t feel so alone.

 

But still, she isn’t going to give it up easily. The least she can do is make Anya fight for it.

 

 **Anya:** so am I allowed to ask how your date went?

 **Lexa:** no x

 **Anya:** so how did your date go?

 **Lexa:** i said no x

 **Anya:** that bad? really?

 **Anya:** did you strike out?

 **Lexa:** i’m not even sure i know what that means

 **Anya:** then you almost definitely struck out

 **Anya:** good

 **Anya:** though that does mean you have no excuse for ignoring me all evening

 **Lexa:** i don’t need an excuse

 **Lexa:** you’re annoying x

 **Anya:** so you’re only allowed to be annoying if you’re a cute blonde?

 **Anya:** that seems fair

 **Lexa:** you are a cute blonde

 **Anya:** down girl, you’re not my type

 **Lexa:** also, clarke isn’t annoying

 **Anya:** i agree

 **Anya:** that word is an understatement

 **Anya:** she’s a total bitch

 **Lexa:** anya, be nice

 **Anya:** tell that to griffin

 **Anya:** though, on the nice front, i am glad she didn’t kill you x

 **Lexa:** thank you, me too

 **Lexa:** though it was never a risk

 **Anya:** well i didn’t know that

 **Anya:** what was i supposed to think?

 **Anya:** she just rocked on up at lunch and kidnapped you

 **Anya:** i spent all afternoon waiting for the ransom note

 **Lexa:** there was no kidnapping

 **Lexa:** that’s not what happened

 **Lexa:** i was even the one driving

 **Anya:** so what did happen?

 **Anya:** and don’t bullshit me, lex

 **Anya:** i know you like her

 **Lexa:** it’s complicated

 **Anya:** then allow me to uncomplicate it

 **Anya:** are you fucking?

 **Lexa:** what

 **Lexa:** no, Anya, we aren’t.

 **Anya:** do you want to be?

 **Anya:** and don’t you dare say it’s complicated

 **Lexa:** it’s complicated

 **Anya:** brb, just gonna go blow my brains out x

 **Lexa:** well it is

 **Lexa:** i wish it wasn’t, but it is

 **Lexa:** you aren’t making this easy, you know

 **Anya:** really?

 **Anya:** or am i making it too easy?

 **Lexa:** yes, actually

 **Lexa:** you're also too damn smart

 **Anya:** well we all knew that

 **Anya:** but i’m still confused

 **Anya:** i don’t understand why you won’t tell me what’s going on

 **Lexa:** i want to

 **Anya:** is it bad? Is she blackmailing you?

 **Anya:** you can tell me. You know i’ll kick her ass for you in a heartbeat

 **Lexa:** as kind as that is, it won’t be necessary

 **Lexa:** it’s nothing bad

 **Lexa:** we’re just… getting to know each other

 **Anya:** yeah, and that’s weird, lex

 **Anya:** since when you do you know clarke fucking griffin?

 **Lexa:** we’ve only been speaking for a few days

 **Anya:** i saw your phone earlier, lex

 **Anya:** that’s a lot of texts for a few days

 **Lexa:** …i know x

 **Anya:** i meant it as a bad thing

 **Anya:** i don’t like her, in case you hadn’t caught on

 **Lexa:** well you aren’t exactly being subtle

 **Anya:** it’s just that this whole thing seems shady af

 **Anya:** i mean,... ugh, ok,

 **Anya:** I hate her, but

 **Anya:** you are allowed to like her, you know?

 **Anya:** i know i can be a bitch, but i do have it in me to be happy for you x

 **Lexa:** i know x

 **Anya:** but you don’t trust me with the truth?

 **Lexa:** of course i do

 **Lexa:** i definitely trust you, Anya

 **Lexa:** but... i also trust that you hate Clarke

 **Anya:** YEAH, and so do you

 **Anya:** or you did, last time i checked

 **Lexa:** i’ve never hated Clarke

 **Anya:** really? because you’ve said some pretty strong things to the contrary before now

 **Lexa:** never about her

 **Lexa:** and only to appease you

 **Anya:** appease me?

 **Anya:** like i forced you to? like i’m some child having a tantrum?

 **Anya:** she’s a bitch, Lexa. Don’t let her make you into one too

 **Lexa:** i’ll ignore that because i know you mean well

 **Lexa:** i don’t want to argue over this

 **Anya:** me neither

 **Anya:** but i’m not even sure what we’re arguing about

 **Anya:** are you a couple?

 **Lexa:** no

 **Anya:** friends?

 **Lexa:** i suppose we are now

 **Anya:** can you understand how annoying that answer is?

 **Anya:** why are you being so cryptic?

 **Anya:** the only thing I can think of is that she DID kill you tonight

 **Anya:** am i actually talking to Clarke right now? Is this some elaborate set up for an alibi?

 **Lexa:** if it were, of course you’d be smart enough to see though it x

 **Anya:** stop flattering me x

 **Anya:** i’m angry x

 **Lexa:** i know, i’m sorry

 **Lexa:** i’m not sleeping with her... but yes, i like her

 **Lexa:** just trust me when i say that it’s complicated

 **Anya:** there’s that word again

 **Anya:** fucker needs a trigger warning

 **Lexa:** just trust me when i say that it’s complex

 **Anya:** that’s no better

 **Anya:** Lexa… is it just because you’re a girl?

 **Anya:** does she not want to be with you publically?

 **Lexa:** no, she doesn’t even know i like her

 **Lexa:** and she can never know

 **Lexa:** and even if she knew i liked her, and could even like me back, she has a boyfriend

 **Anya:** okay, granted, that is complicated

 **Anya:** look, i’m sorry

 **Anya:** not just about that, but about me

 **Anya:** i shouldn’t be making this harder on you

 **Lexa:** you aren’t

 **Lexa:** you’ll never be a problem to me x

 **Lexa:** it’s my fault, falling for someone i can never be with

 **Anya:** falling for her?

 **Anya:** how bad is it? I thought this was just a crush

 **Lexa:** it is

 **Lexa:** … just, a big one

 **Lexa:** we still don’t know much about each other, really

 **Lexa:** but i really like her

 **Anya:** okay, seriously Lexa, why?

 **Anya:** you can do so much better

 **Lexa:** that’s sweet, but irrelevant

 **Anya:** i just don’t want to see you get hurt again

 **Anya:** you’re such a wonderful person lexa, and if she can see that, then great

 **Anya:** but i don’t want you chasing after someone who’s always looking at someone else

 **Anya:** don’t make it easy for her, lex, you deserve to be chased x

 **Lexa:** down girl, you’re not my type

 **Anya:** humour is a bad look on you x

 **Anya:** you don’t even write your own material

 **Lexa:** that’s what i have you for

 **Anya:** and you’ll always have me x

 **Anya:** i’ll be there to pick up the pieces when this crush goes sideways

 **Lexa:** your support is as depressing as always x

 **Lexa:** don’t worry. i’ll get over her, anya. I have to.

 **Anya:** don’t do it for my benefit, if you think you have a chance, go for it

 **Anya:** don’t mind me sulking on the sidelines

 **Lexa:** no, it’s for the best

 **Anya:** because it’s complicated?

 **Lexa:** yeah

 **Anya:** i get the feeling its because of more than just her boyfriend

 **Anya:** will i ever get to know?

 **Lexa:** yes

 **Lexa:** there are things going on, things with clarke

 **Lexa:** i can’t just tell you everything without talking to her

 **Anya:** ugh, this bitch

 **Anya:** she’s not making it easy for me to like her

 **Lexa:** actually,

 **Lexa:** liking clarke is the easiest thing in the world

 **Anya:** *vomits*

 **Lexa:** you’d agree if you gave her a chance

 **Anya:** if i gave her a chance?

 **Anya:** be fair, lexa, she’s not made it easy

 **Anya:** she’s never even tried to speak to me before

 **Lexa:** i know

 **Lexa:** i’m not sure how I feel about her friends

 **Lexa:** but she’s a different person when she’s alone

 **Lexa:** there’s more to her than you’d think

 **Anya:** speaking of her friends

 **Anya:** you know how you made me catch the bus home?

 **Anya:** (because you wanted to fuck in the back seat)

 **Lexa:** i know i made you catch the bus, yes

 **Anya:** one of Clarkes gang cornered me, sat next to me

 **Lexa:** oh god

 **Lexa:** how bad was it?

 **Lexa:** which one was it?

 **Lexa:** tell me you didn’t hurt anyone

 **Anya:** Very bad. Wells. And only emotionally.

 **Lexa:** oh, Wells isn’t that bad

 **Lexa:** i mean, comparatively speaking

 **Lexa:** what did he want?

 **Anya:** he wanted to talk about you, actually

 **Anya:** looks like your girl has painted a target on your back

 **Lexa:** she’s not my girl, clarke belongs to no one

 **Lexa:** what did he actually say?

 **Anya:** very little, actually

 **Anya:** which was annoying, made it harder to argue with him

 **Anya:** i think he was worried about clarke

 **Lexa:** there’s a lot of that going around, lately

 **Anya:** i swear, whatever is actually going on with you and her, it had better be good

 **Anya:** when you finally tell me, it had better live up to the hype

 **Lexa:** lower your expectations

 **Lexa:** it’s a cliche with a twist

 **Lexa:** i’m in love with a straight girl

 **Anya:** *vomits harder*

 **Lexa:** i’m blocking your number and going to bed

 **Lexa:** you’ve given me a headache x

 **Anya:** nice to know you care enough to worry x

 

Lexa is about to reply, when she’s distracted by something so warming, it makes her forget Anya even exists.

 

 **Clarke:** hey, are you free tomorrow as well by any chance?

 **Clarke:** i fancy doing something slightly less illegal this time x

 

Lexa never texts Anya back. She’s quite happy to let the girl think she’s gone to bed, even though Clarke keeps her awake for a few more hours yet.

  
  



End file.
